Tuesday, January 15, 2013
A Body at Rest . . . Stays Fat and Sluggish, Apparently
But to paraphrase the immortal words of two Jennifers, Holliday and Hudson, I am telling you I'm not not going. I will go to the freaking class and I will zumba, even if I have to take 25 breaks and the Italian Spitfire yells at me (she yells at me every week, no big) and I limp my way through all 20 songs. The only way to break through my torpor and fatigue is to break through and break a sweat! This I know for sure.
Right after Mimosa and I get home from her dentist appointment, I'm squeezing into my tightest zumba clothes, three hours early. I am taking no chances!
The only good news is that my weight is way down, which a weekend of couch-sitting, hot broth, and weak tea will do for you. But I'm considering it a Xanadu weight and not taking it seriously.
In other news . . . welcome to two new readers, the Southern-Fried Lawyer and my Reading Soul Sister! I thought I remembered that the SFL had lost a lot of weight in the last year, so I asked if she had any tips; she replied, "I DID lose a lot of weight, but only with the gastric bypass surgery, so I don't think my pep talks (eat only liquids for four-six weeks! Have massive surgery! Then have a bowel obstruction!) would be very useful." Au contraire, sister-girl! I find your words useful, instructive, and entertaining. (Trifecta!)
Tomorrow my day begins with a coffee date with Kind Tina, always a treat, and since I'll be right next to the library, I may spend a cheerful 40 minutes tidying "my" section. (My section includes adolescent angst, early feminism, and geriatric sex; I haven't made it through the whole things yet so I'm not sure what other wonders await, but so far it's been pretty entertaining.) Tomorrow is also significant because it's the last day I should take in alcohol or ibuprofen before my Major Surgery. (So far, I've managed to stay in "I'll think about this tomorrow" mode, to which my dear friend Michele, Oasis of Calm, responded, "I hear you, Scarlett. Boy, do I hear you" — but as the dreaded day grows nearer, this approach may be less successful.) I haven't really felt like drinking these past few days, but part of me thinks I should have one for my baby and one more for the road, y'know? Four weeks without hooch (and Motrin!), starting Thursday. Yowza.
(Mrs. Cynicletary recommended that I get a prescription for medical marijuana — and, since she knows that I'm not overfond of the illicit herb, she had several creative suggestions for what I might do with the surplus. I'll just leave it at that.)
Hey, I just produced quite a few words, given my weariness! I hope this bodes well for tonight.
(Of course, I'd really like a nap right now. Blogging . . . so worky.)