Here’s my problem, and I’d like to once again point out that it’s delightful that I keep identifying just the one.
Here’s my problem du jour. Du life.
I woke up a few moments before the alarm, and that’s not a problem. That’s good. But what I did, then, was once it went off, is I was already awake and thinking of stuff I should be doing. “I should weigh myself,” I thought, and then remembered how Herman Munster weighed three spins. He told his doctor once. The scale spun three times when he got on. I don’t know why that tidbit stayed with me all these years but it did.
I got up to weigh self.
I’m on a new diet. Noom.
Unfortunately, I get the Zoom theme song in my head every time I say “Noom,” and then I eat a cupcake.
Anyway, they tell me, the people at Zoom do, (“Ohhh two onnne three fourrrr“) to weigh in every day. Yesterday I got on and weighed three spins.
Today, I got up, and oh, I should let Edsel out first. He looks pee-y. He never wants to go out before we go to bed, and all the cajoling in the world won’t get him out. Some nights I dress like a sexy tree in hopes of getting him to want to lift his leg, but no.
Once Edsel was out peeing the world, I started looking for my glasses. I can’t possibly see the damn scale without my eyes on. That number is 400 feet away, with these eyes.
My glasses aren’t on my nightstand, but oh! My self-care journal! When I was concussed and had nothing to do every day, I went shopping a lot. It was among the two things allowed. So at Soft Surroundings (Menopausal Surroundings), they had on sale a self-care journal, because apparently no one wanted to spend money on caring for one’s self.
It’s a 90-day journal, and you put in how long you slept, what you ate, did you have alone time today (HAHAHAHAHA), nice things you did for yourself, and crap like that. If I don’t fill it out every day I’m a FAILURE LOSER.
I filled it out.
Oh, the cats are restless. They saw me get up, so they’ve all leaped to the dryer for breakfast. Except Iris, who can’t get up there anymore and is there anything sadder than a declining animal? Iris sort of walked under the dryer, hands in front of her like Helen Keller.
So I fed everyone, including w-a-t-e-r circling-the-drain Iris, with her special food on her special chair separate from the hearty with vegetables cats up on the dryer eating the regular cheap stuff with relish. Not literally. I own zero relish.
Where are my glasses? Well, I might as well make coffee. I might as well refill the water bowl, too, while I’m up here.
Then I sneaked Edsel’s pills into his dog food. He takes two right now, he takes two, baby, me and you, and I slip them into pill pockets and into his regularly scheduled food like an underworld spy or the wife of a close friend.
Wife of a close friend.
Well, now he’s heard his food go in the dish [psst: now with pills], so he’s scratching at the door.
Geez, I have to pee.
Oh! Here are my glasses! In the bathroom! Yay! Wait, why did I need glasses?
And that’s why I weighed myself 45 minutes after I initially thought, “I should weigh myself.” And THAT, my friends, is my problem.