Remember Me?

Sorry, sorry, sorry, SORRY!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bad, bad, bad Momsgotproblems! I have not written to you. I have not informed you.

But I have not abandoned you.
But I have not forsaken you.
But I have not forgotten you.

It’s not you; it’s me.

Things have been crazy. Things have been trying. Things have been difficult. Things have been trying. Really, really trying.

I feel like Job. (Not job as in employment; Job as in the guy in the Bible that God kept dishing out bad sh*t to repeatedly to test his faith–kinda a mean exam, huh? Kinda like a giganto pop quiz a teacher might give to make sure students are doing the reading. BTW, I never give pop quizzes–as in ever–maybe because I didn’t always do my reading when I was in school? Who knows…) Anywhooo, I digress.

Really, it’s time to move onto some other individual, because I am really starting to get over-the-top overwhelmed. If I am at work, I am letting down Double and Margaret. If I am visiting Double (who is currently in the hospital), I am being a bad mother and employee. If I am visiting Margaret (who is not at home, but somewhere else…if I got into it, this entry would be 9,736,593.748 words–or something like that–long–) I am letting down my own family and Double.

I am only one person!!!

Oh, and I forgot one person who is all up in the Kool Aid: ED. Oh, in case you have never heard this expression, it is Southern. Actually the whole expression is, “He/She is all up in the Kool Aid and doesn’t know the Flavor,” which basically refers to someone who throws his/her two cents in and doesn’t know what’s going on. I f*cking HATE that! Anywhooo, I digress, AGAIN.

Back ED. He’s taking advantage of the situation. I’m just doing whatever he wants without any discussion, arguments, questioning, concerns, issues. No protests.

Zip. Nil. Nyet. Nada.

I know what you, my lovely readers (and you all are extremely lovely) are thinking, “Oh, Moms, that’s just pathetic! Just going along with ED? PATHETIC!”

Yup. Guilty as charged. I’ve been hitting drive-thru’s and convenient stores (you can ONLY guess what kinds of things I am purchasing) and the junk food at home. I’ve justified it by saying I am just doing what I have time to do. Because we all know it takes less time to buy a candy bar than an apple.

I am very terrible at handling my own life.
But I am excellent at making a plethora of excuses.

Guilty Until Proven Innocent

Today I appear before a Judge. No, not an “American Idol” judge, or a “Judge Judy” judge, or “look at the great finger-painting I did, can I get a blue ribbon?” judge. A JUDGE judge, as in a court of law.

Now from my extensive knowledge of the law, which I have gotten from many faithful years of watching Law and Order–new episodes and reruns, I know that people are innocent until proven guilty. While that is technically true, we all know better.

Well maybe we do and maybe we don’t, but I am not going to address it in today’s blog entry.
This entry is about my court cases. As in more than one.

The multitude of charges against me doesn’t really matter because they will all be tried together. Actually I am on trial as I write this. The Judge, District Attorney, and Defense Attorney are all the best in the business, which is good and bad for me. Hell, even the arresting officer is well-known. Here’s the funny part about all these people: they are all named ED.

ED arrested me for breaking the law. Well technically it was a lot of smaller laws, but we are focusing on the most important one: Getting FAT!

Being fat is a very, very, very bad thing; I knew this before officer ED even slapped the cuffs on me. But now I have to face the repercussions of my actions.

I presented my case to my defense attorney, ED. I told him that I knew I was getting fat and that I was trying to do something about it and I really wanted to get help and stop. My lawyer told me that trying to do something didn’t really matter in the eyes of the law; the only thing that really mattered were actions–or lack of actions. And that was what we were up against. My lawyer told me that I was in a tight spot (no pun, intended…no wait! Pun intended). The state would present a very strong case showing that I voluntarily binged and got fat; the state would convince the jury that I could have stopped bingeing at any time I wanted because no one was actually making me binge. But Lawyer ED said that he would talk to the DA.

District Attorney ED, and Assistant District Attorney MIA listened as my lawyer explained why I became fat. It was a very short explanation. The DA and ADA spoke directly to me. They said that I knew what I was doing by bingeing. That any rational person would know that eating and eating and eating and eating, all day/everyday, consuming massive amounts of calories, gorging on unhealthy foods, would make me fat. I couldn’t play the “I didn’t know that” card because I did know that. No one was holding a weapon up to my head forcing me to eat; I did that all on my own. I showed a complete lack of self-control and self-regulation and I should be punished to the fullest extent of the law.

I figured I would go for broke and ask how he and MIA could prove that I knew I was getting fat and that it didn’t just happen. ADA MIA and DA ED didn’t even need to answer me because I knew, but of course they did.

After all, I own a scale. And clothes. And clothes in very big sizes that don’t even fit on my bod. And a mirror. And eyes. And trash bins and recycling bins. And…

Wait. What? Recycling bins and trash bins?

ADA Mia piped up and stated that I could see the ever-growing mound of wrappers and empty containers from all the food I had eaten.

Oh, yeah. That. Ok, and trash bins and recycling bins.

ADA ED continued. You have been seeing the shrink who dumped you, and a weekly therapist who both had identified the increase of fatness going on.

My lawyer stopped him. We would see them in court.

And here I sit, wearing the biggest moo-moo I could find that made me look as “un-fat” as possible, looking around the courtroom and listening to everyone talking about me fat.

I see the subtle disapproving glances from The Honorable Judge ED. I hear the soft snickers from the juror’s box and from the foreman, ED. I even see the fingers flying on the hands of court stenographer ED.

I think about my crime of getting fat. Yeah, I committed it. Yeah, I didn’t want to, but did it anyway. Yeah, no one made me. Yeah, I could have–SHOULD HAVE–stopped it.

I am guilty.

The trial itself is moot.
The arguments presented by the lawyers are moot.
The findings of the jury are moot.

I am guilty.
I am not, nor have ever been, innocent.

The big unknown is the sentence to be handed down by Judge ED.

What is the punishment for getting and being fat?
Will it be enough to stop me from getting any fatter?
Will it make me get skinny?

ED, in all his multitude of roles, knows that I am not denying my guilt. He knows I am not trying to “get out” of anything (well I do want to get out of the size I wear, but that is beside the point) I will do whatever ED tells me is my consequence.

Guilty?
Innocent?
Doesn’t matter.

*OK, I’ve been formulating this entry in my head for DAYS. I had a well-thought out idea and a great direction, yadda, yadda, yadda. As I was writing this today, I was interrupted many times and I kept losing my thoughts. I am publishing it anyway. So, assuming this sucks a lot, here is the “Cliff’s Notes” Version:

I am fat.
Fat is bad.
ED is f*cking with me.