moving (on over)

Hallo! I do not know how fat I am! I am sure it is pretty fat, but right now, I do not care. But this is not the ordinary not really caring – this is me pretty much staying on track and getting some exercise and not really thinking, too hard, about food and the business, because I have been moving. It is refreshing to have a stress that is different than the usual kind of stress. It easy to talk yourself out of panic and worry when you remember that you're doing this to yourself, until you get really mad at yourself for doing that to yourself, and what were you thinking and holy crap, why didn't anyone ever punch you in the face, dude, because you are cruising for a bruising, that's right, I said it, and then suddenly you're face down in a pie.

The awesome thing about moving is that there is no pie! And there is no time for eating, and no time for breathing and no time for anything, and you have to steal thirty seconds out of the day in order to feel sorry for yourself. That is my new special fancy Not Fat No More Diet with a TM at the end of it – Move Your Way to Not Fatness(TM)! If you move far away enough, the fat won't find you! Fat has a very poor sense of direction, I swear. My credentials are that I am super awesome. Send checks now!

So the other good thing about moving is that I am out of a Bad Neighborhood (which I had always secretly loved, until the squatters moved in with their crack and their hopped up on goofballsness) and into a Good Neighborhood (with an unfair percentage of restaurants that I'm really, really fond of) , and the Good Neighborhood has got (besides an unfair percentage of restaurants which, I might have mentioned, I'm really, really fond of) this proximal kind of thing to the park going on. The Park, actually. THE PARK.

I have begun to walk through THE PARK to work every morning, in the sunshine and the fresh air, listening to the birds tweet and enjoying the bounty of nature and construction and traffic, and I arrive at my desk flushed and deeply unhappy, and yet pretty damn proud of myself, because I have walked to work, and now I can lie down for the rest of the day and maybe roll around in a little bit in marinara.

I have got great plans in the works about walking to THE PARK every weekend and rolling around in not marinara, but grass and nature and trees, if I can work out a way to do that and not find myself knee deep in dog stuff. I have even decided that I can walk to the beach, and won't that be a party? Though I predict I will start to walk to the beach and then stop at a waffle house instead, because the beach is rather farther from me than THE PARK is.

So I'm doing okay. Except for one really bad and awful day where I turned to Guy and said you know what? I am having a fucking giant cookie and he looked at me and said I will buy you that cookie, I have been stuck like glue to my Opti-Medi-Science-Fast, and while I have not noticed any particular slimmingness going on, I am sure that when I finally unearth the box my scale might possibly be in and then get around to unpacking it and then work up the courage to stand on it, I will be very surprised. I am hoping it will be pleasantly.