Don’t tell me food doesn’t love me

Every birthday I reach a point where I think “I’m old. I need to just accept that I’m old and can’t lose weight.” And then Jennifer Lopez at 51 rocks a stripper pole at the Super Bowl in a bedazzled G-string and I think maybe I’m underachieving a bit. Not that I’m going to put in the work to look like J.Lo, when I’m really more of a Melissa McCarthy. A killer sense of humor is more attractive than abs you can bounce quarters off. On a woman anyway. I felt like I needed to try harder as February rolled around.

Plus I still had prospects of a hot sex romp in Europe with the online paramour I met around Christmas. The phone sex was hot, and I successfully managed to avoid any photos of my squishy midsection, so I needed to up my game. I signed up for Weight Watchers in a moment of drunken self-loathing. I’d been trying to reach my target weight for about three years. It started after my trip to Austria and seeing photos of me at the office holiday party a few weeks later. What I thought looked good in the mirror did not. I was a sparkly water buffalo in the photos that I quickly deleted off the office server. I managed to lose 14 pounds, and was 6 off my target when I plateaued. Close enough.

A year later and I gained back 5. After a trip to Scotland, I came back and decided to boycott the office holiday party so I wasn’t fat shamed again. But still, a New Year’s resolution later and I tried again. Managed to get within 5 of my goal and plateaued. Damn perimenopause. I quit again.

This year I wasn’t going to try. I accepted my crone status. But then I was teased with sex. It’s not a lot of weight. I could do it. I managed to lose 5 pounds, and then Valentine’s Day happened. It wasn’t a good day. I was in the midst of being ghosted by said sexy European. I left work and backed my car into a pole in the office parking garage. Cracked the bumper (a mere $1400 in damage). So I went home and gorged on pizza, wine, and chocolate. And continued to do that for weeks, because I was heartbroken and have a tendency toward self-sabotage.

The ghosting ended eventually, so life seemed worth living again. I felt hope again, not only because of that but because Bernie Sanders won New Hampshire. I need to start dieting again! Hot sex in my future!

And then the fucking virus hit. Now I’m working from home, and trapped with Miss Daisy 24/7. I’m surrounded by less than healthy food choices. The grocery stores are limited like images we saw of the Soviet Union in 1982. Lemon water doesn’t cut it when you are watching MSNBC tell you we are about to die all alone every day, covered in shit from a toilet paper shortage. Fruit? Not happening. There’s mac & cheese, and bagels, and frozen pizza, and jellybeans. Frozen things with a shelf life of 3 years. My great fear when this happened was that the governor would close the liquor stores. Every time I’d go out for necessities I stockpiled boxes of wine. Maybe that should be my diet. Just wine. Perhaps mix it up with a protein shake for lunch.

I was doing so well before this, and in anticipation of Sexapalooza 2020, I not only bought faux leather pants, but also bought three pairs of a jeans in a smaller size than I’ve worn in several years. They fit like gloves, and I felt amazing in them. I tried them on today and I’m two bagels away from them being OJ gloves.

But I can’t diet during this, even though I know it will be much worse to try and lose when this is over. I am stressed. Even though I’m not particularly worried about getting the virus, I am cranky. I don’t find myself worrying constantly, but there is an underlying frustration. I have a very short temper. I throw things at my laptop during “office meetings.” I am swearing like I’m in a Quentin Tarantino movie. My blood pressure (which I am ordered to check and log throughout the day) is completely unstable. It’s not a good thing. And while I’m not exactly being ghosted again, I don’t quite know what is happening with the relationship and that’s not helping my state of mind either.

I’m just hoping to survive this without my weight climbing back to where it was. Thank God Amazon is still delivering weight loss pills. This is survival mode. And at the end of this, there will be hot sex in Europe. That’s keeping me going now.

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