Girl watching, power eating, and experimentation with herbs have been life-long interests of mine. If people from the present society (which I think is increasingly getting greedier and selfish) were to review my life, they might say, “what a loser.” Fortunately I realize I can not change what others think of me. I must have a good opinion of myself.
My mom was very sleepy, up early for our back to school. She made five bag lunches. At lunch I saw that my bologna sandwich was missing the bologna. My mom often shorted me. She knew I had gone in the kitchen late at night and ate the bologna meant for the next day’s lunch.
At an early age I was stealing from the pantry and fridge. My hunger was insatiable: Mom caught me in the kitchen and I quickly stuck a dripping peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my husky jeans pocket. The misshapen PB&J had lint on it, but I just picked it off and ate it.
Food satisfied my soul. I never felt bad about getting more than my share.
“Hey Mom, I’m not going to school today,” I announced.
“Oh… you’re not? What is the matter?” she asked.
“Last night I threw up all over the toilet. I got some on my shirt.”
I showed her the stain on my shirt, which was really chocolate milk.
“Well what did you eat yesterday?” she asked.
I ate two big bowls of Lucky Charms. I ate my school lunch and Tommy Smith’s lunch because he wasn’t hungry. A couple people in the cafeteria gave me their cake. After school I had Pop Tarts at Grandma’s with ice cream. Then we had dinner–ham, green beans, potatoes, bread. For a bedtime snack, I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich.
My mom said she was going to put me on a diet. She said I should get upstairs, wipe off the toilet, and get ready for school.
Trying to improve my mind and body has been very difficult. Deep breathing and meditation caused me to nearly pass out. The extra intake of air came back out later. My dog, who sleeps with me, left the room upset. That oxygen can really mess me up.
Yoga is not for the obese. I got stuck in a position and had to call 911. The pressure on my belly caused my stretch marks to spread. In the gym I always end up a total sweat ball. I have to leave the gym in this smelly condition because I will not shower with other men. I’m thinking I may stay out of shape, with the same old lame brain.
I want to be a zumba dancer. Gyrating my hips in a room full of sweating women. This is not going to happen.
I want to go on safari in Africa. Riding on the back of a giant elephant. This is not going to happen.
I want to climb Mt. Everest and be on top of the world. This is not going to happen
I want to eat a whole pizza, with extra cheese and pepperoni. This is going to happen.
Life is not fair. Some guys become porno stars. I don’t like to see myself naked in the mirror. Some womanizers go through hundreds of women in their lifetimes. My last date three months ago, the woman was so gruesome looking she scared our waitress.
Women know what I want right away. A big sandwich and a order of french fries. On one date I announced loudly, “I love you.” My date thought I was talking to her–I was talking to my cheeseburger.
“What in the hell are you doing in there?!”
My father had found me in Aunt City’s broom closet.
I had just polished off two of Aunt City’s powdered sugar doughnuts, and the evidence was all over my face and sweater. I told him I had to have them, I was very hungry, and I was ready to go home.
Very loudly he said, “What are you some kind of fat jerk?”
I had heard this expression before, usually when he tried to help with my math homework.
I’m not a thief, but I had to have those kinklings.