How I Got Here

This is the first thing I ever posted here in The Land Of Blogspot - on 12/31/04 - and as I discovered TODAY when I attempted to get dressed to go to the ever-lovin' grocery store, it is still completely relevant and timely.
I guess not much about me has changed since 2004.
Except arthritis.
And sciatica.
And more fatness.
And maybe I was cooler then.

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The Panic Room...aka my bedroom.
I wanted to add this entry earlier, but the feeling has only just now returned to my fingers.

THE TIME: 10:13am
THE DATE: Friday, Dec 31
THE MISSION: Get dressed & go to the grocery store (They do tend to rather strictly enforce that 'no clothes, no service' rule)

Seemed a simple enough task. I was flippant enough to LAUGH at its simplicity. C'mon, give me a real mission, why doncha?

Socks-check. Underwear-check. Grubby t-shirt-check. Jeans-ch...OH CHIT.

That's where the trouble began. I slid my jeans up, no worries. I reached for the button...sucked in my tum-tum, struggled a moment, but got the button buttoned.
THEN CAME THE ZIPPER. O dear Lord. I couldn't zip my pants. There was this strange bulge of (could it be fat?!) something in the way. I looked around for help..but unfortunately I was the only one in the room. Figures.
What's a girl to do?
Luckily I can think on my feet, so I fell back on the time-honored pants-zipping method used by teenage girls everywhere (if you remember back that far, when we actually wanted our jeans to fit like a second skin)...and lay myself down on the bed.
Five minutes and a bruised finger later, I triumphed over the evil zipper.
"AHA! VICTORY IS MINE!" I wanted to shout, but I couldn't draw breath enough to even wheeze it out.
As I lay there panting, I tried to figure out what had happened. Obviously, my jeans had shrunk in the wash, or something.
SURELY it couldn't have anything to do with the 47lbs. of fudge I've consumed over the past week or so, nor with the 23 Reese's Peanut butter trees, endless bags of M&Ms, two boxes of cordial cherries, cookies of every kind, or the entire box of Ferrero Rocher truffles.
SURELY not. Everyone knows that holiday calories don't even count~those are burned up in ADVANCE, what with the shopping and the wrapping and the decorating. It's a proven fact. Well, I THINK I read that somewhere, anyhow.

Then I had to stop wondering about it, because little black dots appeared before my eyes from the lack of oxygen. My fingers were going numb, and I couldn't feel my toes.
I HAD to get up from the bed. I flailed my arms & legs about, looking somewhat (at least in my imagination) like a turtle who'd gotten turned on it's shell.
I couldn't get up.
I started to hyperventilate, and of course there were no convenient paper bags lying around. OH if I could only make it to the kitchen!
I decided to roll back & forth to build up some momentum. Eventually, just when I though I would faint, something (I think it was the ghost who lives in my house, but that's another story for another day) gave me enough of a nudge that I rolled off the bed and onto the floor. Luckily I landed on my hands & knees so that I could push myself up to my feet.
Unfortunately, I still couldn't breathe. Nor really walk. And to make matters worse, NOW I couldn't even reach the button of my jeans, as a huge roll of that same substance that inhibited my zipper was now hanging over the waistband of my jeans and covering the button.
*sigh* Back to the bed.
Luckily the jeans decided to cooperate during the UNbuttoning and UNzipping phase of this operation...and I reached into the closet for a pair of sweatpants.
AH, SWEET BREATH O' LIFE.

I had to come up with a plan, and fast. I mean really, a girl can't wear sweatpants every day, can she? It's just a sad thing this happened today of all days...as by law I can't start a new diet until tomorrow. The FIRST of January. That's when all New Year's Resolutions are allowed to take place, and not a minute before!
So, my dearest darling readers, I am depending upon you to help me keep on the straight and narrow, slap my hand when it should reach for a potato chip or a bit of chocolate. It is now YOUR responsibility, and you must step up to the plate. Don't let me down, now.
Starting tomorrow.
First thing after brunch. Or dinner. Yeah, that's probably better. In fact, we should probably just wait until the SECOND of January, just to avoid any conflict with the 'GOOD LUCK' stuff you're supposed to eat on the first day of the year. Some of my 'GOOD LUCK' foods include cake and ice cream. So yeah, the SECOND. That'll work.

The good news is, I burned my pizza whilst I was stuck on the bed. So now I'll have to eat something else. Maybe I'll find a nice, healthy bag o' popcorn in the cabinet. Now make yourself useful and hand me the butter.