Hey, hey, Kids! It’s your old friend Krusty the . . . er, I mean, Jen. So . . . how are things? Good? Good. Me? Oh . . . y’know . . . things are . . . fine (*averts eyes, scratches nose a la Holly Golightly*). Mmmkay, gottarunbuhbye!

. . . . . . . .

Just kidding. Sorta.

Firstly, I’d just like to say how funny it is, that I keep seeing the term Gloaty Pants pop up everywhere all of a sudden. That’s neat. :)

Secondly, I have ceased to be a Gloaty Pants. Well, for the time being anyway.

The last few weeks have been a major adjustment, as I started on a new project (in a new location) for my company. Moved back into my apartment (disaster). No longer see Skinny Boyfriend every day. Back on my own, living the single-girl-in-the-city life . . . like Mary Tyler Moore without Rhoda. Or Samantha, without all the sex.

Sigh.

Let me just say, I am not one of those people who easily adapts to change. I’m pretty sure, in the grand evolutionary scheme of things, I should probably be extinct by now. So without getting too far off the SparkTrack or delving into deeply rooted emotional issues, allow me to outline the challenges I’ve been facing the last few weeks:

1. My routine has been uprooted, thrown on the back of a truck, transported across state lines, thrown in a blender, whirled around, mashed up, and then sent down the garbage disposal.

2. My sense of place and comfort with my surroundings has been similarly treated.

3. My support system is now available only by phone, email, or text, most days of the week.

4. My belief that I am not an emotional eater . . . . BAAAAHAHAHAHAHA, oh, wow, have I proven THAT one wrong nearly every day for a month.

5. My super-dedicated workout schedule suddenly resembles the social calendar of your average 82-year-old nun.

The result? Not pretty. Not irretrievable, but not pretty. I don’t have an actual . . . ahem . . . SCALE at my apartment. I always used my WiiFit. Has Mr. WiiFit even been dusted off yet? Ummm nope. So I’ve been weighing myself at random intervals when I’m at my parents’ house on the weekends. No more routine of weekly morning butt-nekkid weigh-ins, and therefore no way to compare apples to apples, however my estimation is that I’ve gained about a pound a week.

I’m pretty certain I’ve gained 4-5 pounds. And more importantly, I’ve about lost every little bit of my previously-marvelous muscle tone that I worked so hard for. It is this, more than the pounds, that frankly make me want to first cry, then catch the next bus to northernmost Alaska, where I can hide myself under a full-bodied Yak fur jumpsuit and not look weird.

Oh, the humanity.

But hey! Guess what I found? A list I must have written at least 4 years ago entitled “THE REASONS.” I will share it with you. I edited it to remove names, but other than that they are true to the original.

1. No thighs brushing together
2. Because I haven’t gone swimming in HOW MANY YEARS?!?
3. No longer qualify as another typical fat American.
4. So I can to go out in public with my heavier friends without feeling like a member of a family of hippos.
5. So I can go out with my skinny friends and not feel like the Big Fat Friend.
6. Because I don’t know what I look like Not Fat.
7. Because I’m tired of looking EXACTLY like my father.
8. Heels.
9. Travel.

. . . . . . . . .

And now for commentary, of course.

I can’t say I am 100% proud of some of these, because a few are a bit . . . um . . . harsh. To myself and others. (The remaining ones are just kinda boring.) So if you feel some sorta way about any of them, just know that I feel some sorta way about them too. However, I was in a pretty fed-up, pissed-off, ready-to-fight kind of mindset when I wrote them.

So I did fight. And I can say, even though yes I just gained 4-5 pounds in the past month, that I can still confidently put a checkmark next to most of these and consider them goals accomplished.

Now, to think about a new list. Two things that will remain: #1 and #9. And #8. And also #2, even though technically I did wear a bathing suit on at least two occasions in the past couple of years. I don’t think that quite qualifies as feeling confident in it.

And, it was night time on both occasions.

And, one of those occasions involved a hot tub and not a pool which, as we all know, involves a lot of bubbles, which hide all manner of sins.

So, new list. I haven’t thought this out until just now so . . . it might be a trainwreck.

THE REASONS

1. No thighs brushing together. Because they still do, a little, and I need to know FOR SURE that isn’t just some physiological quirk of my hip/thigh ratio (which I’ve lamented at length in the past, so I won’t elaborate).

2. Confidence to wear a bathing suit, in public, in daylight. No bubbles.

3. Because muscles don’t jiggle. Much, anyway.

4. Because I’m so sick and tired of being a Hot Girl Hater. It’s just so draining.

5. Because I’m way too old for this nonsense. Find a way to get some gosh-darn confidence or just hang up your spurs, already. You’re driving people crazy, Jennifer. Especially The Boy.

6. I want to do something that feels like an accomplishment. Like beat Lance Armstrong in a triathlon. Or, you know, something more realistic than that.

7. I have a list of active things I want to try/do/achieve/learn . . . kayaking, rock-climbing, surfing, skiing, backpacking, water-skiing, snowboarding, zip-lining, caving, spelunking, cliff-diving, base-jumping, hang-gliding, bungee-jumping, sky-diving, etc. And only a few of those are slight exaggerations (yeah, there’s no base-jumping in my future . . . sky-diving, yes.)

8. Heels. Seriously. They deserve their own number on the list. It’s so much easier to wear cute shoes when you’re lighter and fitter.

9. Travel. I used to go places that were interesting. Now I’m just interested in going places, but ultimately going nowhere. This is easier when you’re lean and mean, for sooooo many reasons.

. . . . aand I’m stopping at nine because, well, I like the number nine (number 9 . . . number 9 . . . number 9), and because I had nine on my original list.

So. This is the first time I’ve blogged in weeks. Feels okay. Kinda weird. A little . . . scary. I feel like I’ve disappointed you all.

But, despite the overall FAIL, in the last few weeks, I’ve been focusing on cooking healthy new recipes and slowly reincorporating exercise into my routine, and also just trying to be kind to myself. I won’t go into the gory details but, emotionally, I’ve been a complete wrecking ball.

As a result, working out just hasn’t been made a priority in my crazed, fuzzy, half-panicky brain-state, and even the healthy meals I’ve made (and the fact that I’ve still been eating exactly on-point with breakfasts/snacks/lunches at least 4/5 work days a week) have not spared me from doing the whole numbing-loneliness-with-Triscu
its thing. And I know, you can’t fix feelings with food, yadda yadda, I’m aware of this fact, but all the mantras and distractions and what-have-yous in the world haven’t been helping me lately.

I’m getting there, though. This feels like a good start.