Angry Rant, Well Deserved. (at least in my head)

Yay first thing in the morning!

After dreams all night that my husband was cheating on me and that I decided to divorce him only to get the wrath of his extended family and I was exhausted trying to figure out how to get home after running from his family with only a debit card that he put a freeze on.

Yay first thing in the morning!

After waking to the whines of my dog who wants to jog, but it’s sleeting and cold and I didn’t sleep well so instead I put him in the backyard where he refused to do business.

Yay first thing in the morning!

Husband decides that this moment, with my dog making the most pitiful face of guilt, me ignoring the dog by staring at the coffee dripping, willing it to drip faster, at this moment my husband decides to confront me about my lack of exercise.

Yay… First. Thing. In. The. Morning.

Nevermind, he has never set foot in a gym.  Nevermind, he hasn’t gotten up early to take the dog for a jog.  Nevermind, he hasn’t forgone any food choices or delectable treat choices in his life.  Nevermind, any of that.

“We’re still paying that monthly gym fee, right?”

Imagine all the forks simultaneously rising from the drawer and making their way into his chest.  Imagine my fists are so fast they are a blur as they pummel his face. Imagine me in the kitchen the fire of red deepening my already dark morning eyes.

First. Thing. In the. Morning.

Now, to be fair, I have slacked off.  To be fair, I am not going to the gym at all.  To be fair, when I talk of my “jogs” they do not strain or challenge me, they’re mostly there for Augustus.  I have softened the edges.  My face has rounded.  Although I haven’t gone up in sizes, I am aware of the roundness of the belly is back and the sucking in is harder.  I live each and every moment in this body.  I am aware of my lacking motivation.  I am aware that I am not keeping up to my regimen.  I am also aware that I don’t give a flying fuck.

Ok.  Well, that’s a lie.  I wish I didn’t care.  I wish I could just be that confident curvy woman who says: “Take it or Leave it”.  I want to embrace my size, because I am dressing it better, I am loving my outfits and clothing, and enjoying my life regardless of my size.  But there will never not be that voice.  That tiny woman who admonishes me.  I fear that even at my skinniest, even when I wasn’t remotely fat, that voice was still as loud.  Still as incessant.  That voice happened to embody my husband this morning and I wanted to kill him.  I started envisioning all those ‘Snapped’ episodes and thought “This is how my story starts: It was a battle against Food and Time… only her husband bore the brunt stick of her anger.”

How can I get so viscerally pissed at my husband for saying the very things the little voice says to me everyday.  And, I put up with her.  I tolerate her quilt trips and her questioning of every action.  I allow her to question if I should cross my legs that way- am I showing too much thigh fat?  I allow her to yell me into crossing my arms- you’re too fat to use arm rests.  I allow her to make me start each and everyday with a shower of guilt that perpetuates itself, guilt I wallow in and say “Well, I’ve already missed those last two days… might as well finish this week bad, and try again next week.”  I also allow her to console me with the thought that it’s always been this way, why do I think I can change it, why do I think that now it will be different.

She never leaves, she always lies, she’s what I should want to kill… not my husband.

I know he means best.  I know he has watched me sacrifice and work my ass off to lose the weight I’ve lost and celebrated the energy I’ve gained.  I know he has also sacrificed time and schedule to allow me the time to go to the gym.  He’s paid outright for the Personal Trainer (oh Miguel!) that provided (what seems almost necessary) a touchstone for me.  My husband isn’t the most eloquent, or tactful, or compromising of personalities, I can’t expect him to be any different than the man I fell in love with, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he would say the things he said to me this morning.

It’s just hard to hear.  After the bad dreams.  After the guilt of my dog.  After the guilt from my bitchy inner monologue.  It’s just hard to hear First. Thing. In the. Morning.

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2 Responses to Angry Rant, Well Deserved. (at least in my head)

  1. Lorna says:

    I hate mornings.

  2. btg5885 says:

    This brings new meaning to the Cat Stevens version of a hymn “Morning has Broken.” Make a good cup of java or tea and go curl up in favorite chair even for a few minutes before tackling the world. All the best, BTG

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