Well, it's therapy Thursday again. Today I went in there knowing that the rug would be fixed. Seems after my last "revelation" about her rug bothering me, she fixed it. Finally, I can really focus on me.
We went through our normal routine of how I was doing, blah, blah, blah. She sat across from me in her big, comfy chair and listened, as she always does. Something about her outfit today was tugging at my brain, what was it? Weird. Anyway, we focused on how I was feeling about my weight loss, as we always do. It is pretty much the center of my universe, so, no shock there. I told her I hadn't been to the gym since my 5K walk that I did a couple of weeks ago and temporarily crippled myself. I told her how much I hated the gym. I mean, I know it is the healthy thing to do. I know I feel better after. I know it is necessary to move things along. I know it, but that sure as hell doesn't have to mean that I like it. In fact, I hate it. I hate the mother trucking gym. I hate the machines that hurt me. I hate the spandex. I hate the way I feel while I exercise. I hate the obligation I feel to go. I hate the way I feel like I am disappointing Ass Kicker when I don't go. I just hate it. My therapist, whom I think has officially earned a blog name of The Rug Doctor, said she is giving me permission to hate the gym for all it is worth. Just embrace how I feel and don't go. For the next two weeks, just let myself hate it and don't let it make me feel guilty or control me in any way. It's okay to hate the gym. Her reasoning is that feelings will change over time and making myself miserable about it is not going to change my feeling of hate right now, so why torture myself? I mean, it's what I normally do. It's kind of a weird twist, but okay, I hate the gym and I don't care who knows!
The conversation turned to my responsibility level with food and how I have been frustrated with my husband for bringing crap into the house. Look, just because Goldfish are buy 4 for $10, any flavor, doesn't mean you do it. Especially the new French Toast Goldfish. They are sinfully delicious and serious snack crack. That bastard. Or ice cream, that's not helpful either. And, don't get me started on the Milano Boston Cream Pie cookies. How am I supposed to behave in these circumstances? We created a pie chart of responsibility and it looks like Will is at least 35% responsible for my stagnant weight loss. I'm going to make this pie chart and put it all over the kitchen.
And then, suddenly, I realized what was weird about Rug Doctor's outfit, it was her shoes! I have those same exact shoes! But where are they? It occurs to me that I don't know where they are. My mind was really focused on the whereabouts of my shoes. Were they in my closet, buried? Are they in the barn? I kind of want to wear them...I didn't throw them away, did I? Shit, now, I'm pissed. Damn it! I can't focus at all, it's no wonder I keep turning to Goldfish for comfort. A unicorn might as well have walked into the room. I was done and we were only half-way in.
We started talking about things that would help my emotional well-being. I asked her if it was okay if I hated this one specific person, who shall remain nameless. She said it was okay. She told me to go ahead and be pissed. I said, "how come being pissed doesn't burn calories? Do you know how skinny I would be if I got a calorie burn from being pissed? I'd be freaking anorexic." She laughed and agreed that yes, it does suck that it doesn't work that way. She did suggest that beating the crap out of someone might make me feel better and that if I wasn't going to the gym, that would burn calories. I think she is on to something. Of course, we then reviewed my likely arrest, imprisonment and overall bad emotional well-being if I chose to get my burn on that way. There is no easy way to lose weight, people. And don't tell me Zumba is the answer, because it isn't. Go ahead, say it, I'll kick your ass!!!
I told Rug Doctor that I wanted a breakthrough moment like people have on The Biggest Loser, or even on The Voice. Why can't I get to that? She suggested that Jillian and Bob push those people for a long time before they finally break. I told her if that is what needed to happen, she needed to step up her game. What if we do shock therapy. Like every time I come in, she shocks me a little harder. Or, she brings in all the stuff I hate into her office and she gets me completely freaked out and at the end of my rope in one session. Win-win, I say. I'm talking clowns, spiders, snakes, spandex, tofu, I mean SCARY shit! She didn't feel that would work, and frankly, she couldn't do it because she hates spiders. I told her, "Great, of all the therapists, I get the selfish one. Just. My. Luck." Today was clearly not my day to have a breakthrough. Hell, I don't even know where my shoes are that she is wearing. Maybe those are my shoes? Maybe she stole them? Wait, paranoia isn't one of the reasons I'm here. Okay, they are probably hers. Just saying, it's suspicious.
So, that is kind of how it all went down. So, let's recap my last few sessions, I've progressed from "Today probably won't totally suck" to "Today is good enough" and now, "It's okay to hate the gym." This is fantastic, my progress is amazing (yes, that is sarcasm, in case you are new). At one point in my session, I blurted out, "Do you think I am making ANY progress???!!!" Kind of like Charlie Brown in that Christmas special where he yells, "Doesn't anyone know the meaning of Christmas?" and then Linus comes out with his blankey and says, "Behold...etc, etc." and tells us what Christmas means to him. Anyway, I digress. I told Rug Doctor, as I left, "by the way, thanks for fixing the rug, but I have those shoes you're wearing, I don't know where they are, and now it's bugging me, thanks for that." She said, "I think there will always be something, with you." I told her she could count on that and to "take that to the bank."
If the rug is still straight and she isn't wearing those same shoes, maybe next time I can make more progress. Now, where are those shoes....? I'm sure not pulling any boxes down from the top shelf in the barn like last week. I can't take anymore blows to the head. I'm a mess without the injuries as it is.
We went through our normal routine of how I was doing, blah, blah, blah. She sat across from me in her big, comfy chair and listened, as she always does. Something about her outfit today was tugging at my brain, what was it? Weird. Anyway, we focused on how I was feeling about my weight loss, as we always do. It is pretty much the center of my universe, so, no shock there. I told her I hadn't been to the gym since my 5K walk that I did a couple of weeks ago and temporarily crippled myself. I told her how much I hated the gym. I mean, I know it is the healthy thing to do. I know I feel better after. I know it is necessary to move things along. I know it, but that sure as hell doesn't have to mean that I like it. In fact, I hate it. I hate the mother trucking gym. I hate the machines that hurt me. I hate the spandex. I hate the way I feel while I exercise. I hate the obligation I feel to go. I hate the way I feel like I am disappointing Ass Kicker when I don't go. I just hate it. My therapist, whom I think has officially earned a blog name of The Rug Doctor, said she is giving me permission to hate the gym for all it is worth. Just embrace how I feel and don't go. For the next two weeks, just let myself hate it and don't let it make me feel guilty or control me in any way. It's okay to hate the gym. Her reasoning is that feelings will change over time and making myself miserable about it is not going to change my feeling of hate right now, so why torture myself? I mean, it's what I normally do. It's kind of a weird twist, but okay, I hate the gym and I don't care who knows!
The conversation turned to my responsibility level with food and how I have been frustrated with my husband for bringing crap into the house. Look, just because Goldfish are buy 4 for $10, any flavor, doesn't mean you do it. Especially the new French Toast Goldfish. They are sinfully delicious and serious snack crack. That bastard. Or ice cream, that's not helpful either. And, don't get me started on the Milano Boston Cream Pie cookies. How am I supposed to behave in these circumstances? We created a pie chart of responsibility and it looks like Will is at least 35% responsible for my stagnant weight loss. I'm going to make this pie chart and put it all over the kitchen.
And then, suddenly, I realized what was weird about Rug Doctor's outfit, it was her shoes! I have those same exact shoes! But where are they? It occurs to me that I don't know where they are. My mind was really focused on the whereabouts of my shoes. Were they in my closet, buried? Are they in the barn? I kind of want to wear them...I didn't throw them away, did I? Shit, now, I'm pissed. Damn it! I can't focus at all, it's no wonder I keep turning to Goldfish for comfort. A unicorn might as well have walked into the room. I was done and we were only half-way in.
We started talking about things that would help my emotional well-being. I asked her if it was okay if I hated this one specific person, who shall remain nameless. She said it was okay. She told me to go ahead and be pissed. I said, "how come being pissed doesn't burn calories? Do you know how skinny I would be if I got a calorie burn from being pissed? I'd be freaking anorexic." She laughed and agreed that yes, it does suck that it doesn't work that way. She did suggest that beating the crap out of someone might make me feel better and that if I wasn't going to the gym, that would burn calories. I think she is on to something. Of course, we then reviewed my likely arrest, imprisonment and overall bad emotional well-being if I chose to get my burn on that way. There is no easy way to lose weight, people. And don't tell me Zumba is the answer, because it isn't. Go ahead, say it, I'll kick your ass!!!
I told Rug Doctor that I wanted a breakthrough moment like people have on The Biggest Loser, or even on The Voice. Why can't I get to that? She suggested that Jillian and Bob push those people for a long time before they finally break. I told her if that is what needed to happen, she needed to step up her game. What if we do shock therapy. Like every time I come in, she shocks me a little harder. Or, she brings in all the stuff I hate into her office and she gets me completely freaked out and at the end of my rope in one session. Win-win, I say. I'm talking clowns, spiders, snakes, spandex, tofu, I mean SCARY shit! She didn't feel that would work, and frankly, she couldn't do it because she hates spiders. I told her, "Great, of all the therapists, I get the selfish one. Just. My. Luck." Today was clearly not my day to have a breakthrough. Hell, I don't even know where my shoes are that she is wearing. Maybe those are my shoes? Maybe she stole them? Wait, paranoia isn't one of the reasons I'm here. Okay, they are probably hers. Just saying, it's suspicious.
So, that is kind of how it all went down. So, let's recap my last few sessions, I've progressed from "Today probably won't totally suck" to "Today is good enough" and now, "It's okay to hate the gym." This is fantastic, my progress is amazing (yes, that is sarcasm, in case you are new). At one point in my session, I blurted out, "Do you think I am making ANY progress???!!!" Kind of like Charlie Brown in that Christmas special where he yells, "Doesn't anyone know the meaning of Christmas?" and then Linus comes out with his blankey and says, "Behold...etc, etc." and tells us what Christmas means to him. Anyway, I digress. I told Rug Doctor, as I left, "by the way, thanks for fixing the rug, but I have those shoes you're wearing, I don't know where they are, and now it's bugging me, thanks for that." She said, "I think there will always be something, with you." I told her she could count on that and to "take that to the bank."
If the rug is still straight and she isn't wearing those same shoes, maybe next time I can make more progress. Now, where are those shoes....? I'm sure not pulling any boxes down from the top shelf in the barn like last week. I can't take anymore blows to the head. I'm a mess without the injuries as it is.
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