So, lately, or the past two weeks that is, I have been so fucking busy that I can’t think or see straight. I mean, the first week was going to be hard enough with covering a week’s worth of shifts back-to-back M-Sat (finished with a 12 hr shift Sat), but to do it on top of school M-Thu and with ‘crud’ (an ear infection in both ears plus an upper respiratory infection)… Jesus. That week sucked so hard.
Next, I was playing catch up from my week with death and talking to Matthew a lot. We had a lot of fights that mainly stemmed from, “Why don’t I ever see you?” and we all know why (I just named it), and thus when I was home more the second week, those arguments simmered down.
Then, we decided this past week we also dabbled with the idea for about a week that we were going to move to the city, because being out here in Bumfucknowhere was boring, had nothing to do around, and the nearest grocery store (that isn’t outrageously priced) is 30 minutes or so away in either direction. LAME.
Well, we decided yesterday not to move and to give it another couple of years. There were many reasons for this, but mainly it boiled down to: for the first time since our marriage, we are financially stable. By that, I mean, if I am out shopping once a month and I see a cute damn top, I can buy said top without crying my eyes out with buyer’s remorse, because we have got it! We’re good. It’s a feeling that is so unreal. I am still waiting for the floors to be ripped from beneath me on this.
So, no move. So busy. Been sick. Now I’m here, writing again.
Today, however, I intended to talk about one of the decisions I’m debating, since I DO have that money now, and that is… Weightwatchers. My mother-in-law has lost an enormous amount of weight on this diet, and she’s accountable. It’s awesome. She signed up to have the online tools AND the weekly meetings, which is $43 (roughly) a month. Just online tools and no meetings is $56 for 3 months. Now, you look at that and think, ‘duh. go with the cheaper one,’ but let’s face it.. Catie, you aren’t here. And try as we may, I am never good with accountability when it comes to diets. I feel so ashamed and I hide my mistakes from you, my husband, the world… And I hope to God you don’t bring it up weekly to remind me that I am slipping, and just let me slip so I can eat all the fucking Whataburger I want.
But.. That’s not right. And there’s no way to keep me from doing it to you from so far away. So, while the online tools are fantastic, visiting weekly meetings may be fucking fantastic for me. Keeping me accountable, meeting other women of all ages trying with me, etc etc… I don’t. Dat price, you know?
What do you think? When I think of what’s holding me back, I think, “A gym membership. That may be very expensive, and if you add it to $43 a month, things can get expensive pretty fast…” Not to mention the increase of price when I start buying healthier shit vs. the unhealthy shit I’ve been buyin. (But to counter this argument, let’s be honest, how much do I spend a day in fastfood alone? I’m sure this is no big deal, but I would REALLY have to cut down on fast food. Like, hard core. Ugh, I cringe just thinking about it.)
Why am I all crying about this lately? Well, it’s that nifty little app you got me on, Snapchat. I… I realized I don’t like sending people pics anymore, even snapped ones, because I see how fat I am compared to everyone else chatting with me. I judge myself and think, “God, do they notice how much fucking bigger I am than they are? Do they laugh as they see me stick a french fry in my face?” I literally started crying over some.
Matt and I also took a day to the mall this past weekend. Usually, I can buy clothes at limited stores in the XL size. I… I can’t even fit in to XL anymore. I’m in XXL. I bawled my eyes out. Another X? Are you serious? What happened to the girl who was a Small, but had to buy Mediums because of her boobs? Why is she an XXL?! How much bigger is she going to get before it’s too late? Is it already too late?
So after crying, I decided I really can’t give up, now. I am over 200lbs, which is what I told myself I wouldn’t do when I had Eli, and I am doing nothing right now to stop it. It’s heartbreaking to see you when you visit, and you look like a fucking rockstar, and I think, “Look, Catie did it, you can, too, and then you can both be rockstar gorgeous friends!” Don’t get me wrong, Catie. I know our friendship is deeper than skin or pant size, but Jesusfuck, sometimes I want to strangle you for all the hardwork you’ve done that I count myself as a failure before I even try about.
I think I’ve ranted enough, but that’s been my life for the last few weeks. Sorry I haven’t posted as much. (P.S. Neither have you, get to it missy!)