There I was, one recent Friday evening, at a local lounge/restaurant. My friend, Donna, had come in for the weekend from out of town. It was also payday so we decided to go out and enjoy ourselves. I will explain more about this a bit later.
It was also self-soothing for several reasons; the most pressing was woefully not having my cat any longer. Allow me to elaborate. My cat was trying to snuff me out like a candle. OK, maybe I'm exaggerating a little.
I did love him very much, however, he began to chew wires - very dangerous. Well, here's the worst part, he would perch on top of the stove and play with the oven dial. No kidding. Especially when he would set the dial incorrectly for cooking a pizza. "That's it!" I declared. No cat of mine will mess with pizza. OK, now I'm fudging the truth a bit. I love peanut butter and chocolate fudge by the way ... yum.
I agonized over the decision to put him up for adoption (so he could kill someone else) and wrote a poem about how I was feeling. Yes! I'm torturing you with another poem. Here it goes ... titled, "The Return."
I felt so sad, so I called my dear ole dad. He made me feel better, so I wrote this heartfelt letter. See, I developed this fad, and it turned out to be bad. His name - Watson. A cat that I thought was a class-act, but that was not the fact. He jumped all around, and turned my life upside-down. So, I thought long and hard, but within me I felt a shard. Then I re-sought my original thought. I'll have to take him back, even with the strength I lack. For he was wild, my kitty-cat child. I'll always think of him, so here I go on a limb. Am I wrong? As I sing you no song. I hope he'll be fine, for he's no longer mine ....
What a tear jerker!
So, now I digress back to my beginning story. Yes, I decided to self-soothe by going out and about. So, in essence - I loved my homicidal cat, but I was also depressed.
Donna had arrived midday and we went to lunch. I had ordered a pizza and a hard cider. The hard cider alone would be my allotment of calories for the day. I wasn't done yet, gorging myself. Well, dinnertime rolled around and Donna and I went out again. Well, Murphy's Law crept up at the restaurant. I knew at least seven people (and they weren't my other personalities) and they were all familiar with the column and other stuff about me. Oops. Especially seeing as though I ran into them after I ordered a crab cake croissant with red garlic potatoes and about three whiskey sours!
A funny thing happened. After partaking in the third whiskey sour, guess who came up to me? Just guess ... OK, give up? It was my dietitian! Fear encroached me as she greeted me. Oh-oh, here I am eating all this stuff and drinking! So I said the only thing I could think of ... "How many calories are in this whiskey sour?" I asked half-looped. I felt kind of embarrassed by "being caught." Serves me right, I guess. Though, not really - now that I think about it. If I felt as if I could never have a "cheat day," then of course I would rebel ... I think anyone would.
I had found a workout buddy. I volunteer with him at the hospital. We used the exercise center in the South Pavilion. It is a very nice place and pleasant to exercise. The staff is also very nice and easy to work with, especially with any questions.
Unfortunately, the exercising was temporarily short-lived. I had more health issues arise. I am so sick and tired with having a "punch card." Buy "four" treatments for maladies - get a wing in the hospital named after you. Seriously, I just had a three shot series for arthritis in my knee and a shot in my hip. My left foot (not the surgical one) is grossly swollen. No wonder why I'm depressed and overeating by reason of temporary need to self-soothe. The problem ... yup! You guessed it. It finally hit me like frozen turkey - it is doing more harm by increasing more pressure on my bones and joints. It's a cyclical effect ... for instance - you have a bad day - you may choose to self-soothe by having chocolate or whatever - add poundage - feel bad - eat self-soothing food - and on and on. Of course this may not be the same model for anyone, but it certainly applies to me.
What's next on my agenda? Stop the cycle. I realize I keep saying this; however, this has been my life for years and years. It's not going to be an overnight panacea, but I'm not going to quit. I'm 41 years old and I will not be another statistic of early demise. I don't want to die young. Nor do I want a knee and hip replacement in my 40s, which is what I'm facing eventually.
Time to go back to basics. Back to eating healthier foods, counting calories and exercising within my means. Back to limiting going out to eat or at least make better choices once at a restaurant. Back to a little treat now and then and maintain a better state of mind. Back to taking responsibility and being accountable in my decisions and actions. Whew! That's a lot. It seems that ... but it has already been stuck in my pea-brained mind. I just need to implement it. I have the tools for success just follow the directions.
Until next time ...
Casi Stewart can be reached at email@example.com. A Weighty Issue appears every other Monday on the Life page.