Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink

Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. Yeah right. It’s all I’ve been drinking. I’ve replaced my Pepsi habit with spring water and let me tell you something. This sucks. Seriously. I’m in the bathroom every five minutes. I should ask IT to roll my desk and PC in the frigging stall; I’d get more work done. I know it’s going to make a huge difference on the scale over these first few weeks. But Christ on a crutch, I can hear the water in my gullet rolling from side to side when I walk. I fucking swish people. I swish. That’s how much water I got in me.

And it’s not enough to drink water like a camel with a monkey on its back. It’s not enough to exercise every single day. Let me make myself exceptionally clear on this point: I like to exercise; I enjoy it. What I don’t like is the gym, well specifically the people that frequent the gym. Physical activity should feel empowering, not deprecating. People walking around in their cute little spandex work-out clothes looking like they jumped off the pages of Fitness Weekly just to torment the fat people. Right now, I see a lycra wrapped hyena acting like she’s working out but not breaking a sweat or breathing hard, talking on her black berry. You hold her down, I’ll force feed the bitch.

Oh I know I’m evil, I don’t care. I got on my red and black AC/DC pajama pants and an oversized ancient tee-shirt intended to keep me comfortable and as covered as humanly possible. I’m afraid if the dude on the machine next to me sees too much of my fat jiggling he’ll experience vertigo and fall off the fucking stair stepper. I’m not that concerned about stairway to heaven over there, I’d just be so embarrassed I’d never go back to the gym and then I’d have given up my Pepsi for no good reason.

You’re thinking work out at home then in private. Nope. Can’t do that either. I’ve got a family. I can’t even get five minutes in the bathroom by myself. On the rare occasion everyone goes out but me, the dog lets herself into the bathroom with me. Or my phone starts lighting up like an arcade game. On crank.

Not that the gym is much more private. The locker room cracks me up. You got two kinds of naked people in there. The kind that I want to kill for looking so good naked (see the lycra hyena mentioned above) and the kind that make want to stab out my own eyes to avoid seeing. People like me hide in the stalls to change or wait till the locker room is empty. I’ve had someone tell me once that they feel better about themselves when the really grotesque strut naked around the locker room. I don’t. I wonder if hyena bitch sees me like I see those I find repulsive. It’s enough incentive to wear my robe. AT ALL TIMES.