stupid, stupid, stupid

This is a long weekend, and I, for one, am grateful. I have
so much on my to-do list, lots of things to catch up on, lots of chores to do
and errands to run and important issues to importantly resolve, and I am
delighted to say that this is the weekend that I’m finally, at long last, going
to pull out my lists, square my shoulders, and go right back to bed. I plan on
gloriously ignoring every single one of those things I thought about doing, and
sleeping from Friday night through Tuesday morning.

I am still sick, and still feeling sorry for myself, and it
is the idea of a perfect, pantless weekend that is keeping me alive and going.
The actual truth of an entirely pants-free weekend would probably kill me dead
of ennui. I really love the idea. I do. It is a siren song of freedom and
peace. But if I let myself wind down and come entirely to a halt, it is
doubtful that I will ever, ever start up again. I am so good at avoiding things
and not thinking about them and letting them fall by the wayside and if they go
there for an entire weekend, they will not get picked back up again, no. They
will lie in the ditch and get covered over with trash and eventually get washed
into the sewers and get eaten by C.H.U.D.s. And without a purpose in life, I
might as well get eaten by C.H.U.D.s. Anyone know a C.H.U.D.?

There is, of course, a middle ground. There’s got to be a
middle ground between temporary coma and endless action-packed endeavoring, and
I assume that’s where the normal people dwell quite happily without ever really
thinking about it. I have never managed
to find that place; I overshoot wildly every time I aim for it, and then I give
up and then everything goes right straight to hell. It’s the all-or-nothing
philosophy that fucked me over and over again when I dieted—I am perfect! I am
the perfect dieter full of perfect dieting and I will make No Mistakes! Except
for this one! I am foiled! I will plant my face in a cake and never come back
up! Please pass me a ham! Thank you!

All, nothing. I didn’t go to the gym yesterday; why should I
bother going to the gym at all this week? I’ve fucked up my running schedule,
and why start yoga in the middle of the week when you’re going to end up with
three whole days between classes and that is no way to start a new exercise
regime! Here, choke down some pie and feel really, really sick. Good girl. Now
smoke an entire pack of cigarettes and feel ashamed and broken, because there
is no other way to feel, except for perfect and saintly, and God knows you
certainly aren’t that. Faultless, or defective. I want middle ground.

I am perfectly capable of saying "Well, no one’s
perfect! I can’t beat myself up! You just start right over from where you
stumbled, and you stride forward and every step is a new chance you are giving
yourself!" I went to a lot of Weight Watchers meetings; I have been to a
lot of therapists. The problem is that I can tell myself that all I want…I just
tell myself that while I’m crying into the third chocolate pie that I am
washing down with a bottle of scotch. After the next pie, that’s when I’ll pick myself back up. Or the next one. Or
the next one. I am perfectly capable of knowing what the right thing to do is—the
problem is actually doing it. How is it possible to know what you need to do,
and why you need to do it, and be absolutely and completely unable to do what
you have to do? Even when you know it’ll make you happy? It has got to be a
design flaw. Or I am very, very stupid.

Sometimes, I am not very very stupid. Sometimes, I wish I
were—because, see, I wouldn’t have to be so aware of my idiot flaws all the
time, right? I could just toddle around enjoying sunshine and flowers and not
be troubled by my oh so tragic idiot
fucking flaws.
They seem especially idiotic written out like this, I will
have you know. Boo hoo, I know what to
do! I just don’t do it! The things that I know I have to do, I mean! I have a
problem! Here is the solution! Oh woe is me, I have a solution! And, um, it’s
hard! So I don’t do it! Boo hoo? Where you going? Hello?

I want to sleep in all weekend, all the way through until
Tuesday. But maybe I can try thinking about the possibility of maybe trying to
consider perhaps taking a stab at, you know. Being a little less idiotic.

5 Replies to “stupid, stupid, stupid”

  1. Wow. I think we were separated at birth. Nice to know that someone I admire and respect goes through the same roller-coaster ride as I do. Good luck to us both, b/c I suspect that conquering this leads to enlightenment, or, at least, a modicum of peace and contentment.

  2. Oh Anne! I feel the same way … it’s all or nothing. Mom always said I was “like a bull in a china shop” .. she says I have “passion” and do everything with “gusto”! Or, I do nothing at all :( I leave big messes in my wake, and I knowwwwwwww if I cleaned up the clutter, my mind would be less cluttered…it seems there is always SO MUCH TO DO. You struck a chord with me just now, because I, too, am a perfect dieter. I keep asking, “where is the happy medium?” If I’m not dieting, I’m eating, and I mean, I’m TOTALLY off the program! Why can’t I just get back on the wagon and resume good eating after a slip? Ugh…I’m just rambling now…I am not alone, and that feels good…thank you for sharing your most intimate thoughts with us. Maybe you’ll find the answers you’re looking for, and you can share them with the rest of us. And I would totally love to be home, pantsless, today. Peace.

  3. A pantless weekend is my idea of heaven.

    I’m coming to this late, because Christopher Columbus was nice enough to steal this land from the Native Americans and as a result I had a glorious three day weekend, sans computer.

    Others have already commented to say “me too!” so I’m not going to bother. Well, ok, yes I will.

    Let me tell you something, Anne my friend. We are always hardest on ourselves. You beat yourself up, you think you are so spectacularly alone in your fucked-up-ness. I hear that.

    But, I hate to break it to you, you are pretty normal, at least in these circles. You’ve written our story, our all-or-nothing, I’m-perfect-or-I-suck story. And nobody throws a pity party like I do, sister, so move over.

    People write saying maybe you’ll find the answers. Well, there are no such answers, I’m convinced of it. But that doesn’t mean all is lost. I used to be a perfect dieter and then I’d fall into a pie and it would all be over and I’d regain every ounce and a bunch more for good measure.

    Do I still fall into the all or nothing trap? I sure as hell do. I just stop it sooner now, I don’t let it all go to hell, I just briefly visit there (hello there, Lucifer, how’s it hangin’?) and then I finish with my freak out and I pull myself together and I get back on track.

    I don’t think there is some magical answer, some final cure. We are human. We just learn how to work with who we are and what we have and we figure out ways to make the best of it.

    Trust me, it’ll be easier when you’re feeling better. Being sick lowers your resistance, not just to viruses, but to the siren call of pantsless weekends. And it’s ok. Sometimes you really do need to let go and give in and throw your hands up and curse the gods and then…and then….and then…you just get back to your business.

    You’ll do it. Have a wee bit more faith in yourself because it’s a hell of lot easier going through this life when you realize that the rest of the world has their own brand of crazy going on too. You’re not alone.

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