I think that it might be time for me to seriously consider getting into shape. It hurts when I have to tie my boots, and there are places that I haven’t seen for months when I am standing up. As it stands right now, I also need to buy a couple of pairs of jeans, as my ass seems to have increased somewhat, and I’m running out of pants that fit me. It kind of makes me wish that I was into that whole baggy pants craze, as I still wouldn’t have to worry about any of this for at least another few months. But I know that once I’m working, the pounds will begin to melt away, as being on my feet all day, and walking to places outside my apartment will burn the calories that writing has not. I’ve been tempted to try those “supplements” that supposedly “melt the fat away” while you are sitting on the couch, eating Doritos, but I really don’t want to go down the Upper rabbit hole again. I mean, sure, I only weighed a buck and change, but the side effects (not to mention the type of people always hanging around) were something so horrific that, even all of these years removed, I still get agitated just thinking about them. Which means that if I want to lose some weight, I’m going to have to do the old-fashioned way: diet and exercise- two of my least favorite things.

We don’t have a scale in the house, as we’re not masochistic monsters, but I imagine that, after hanging around 200 for the past few years, I’ve managed to erupt into the next weight class. And I have boobs. No matter what I do, I will now probably always have them, at least to some extent. Hairy, scary man boobs. That alone should be enough to inspire me to be more active, but it’s easier to just get down on myself for being a tub of lard, and eat my feelings with a bag of jelly beans. I want to eat more healthful food, but it’s cheaper to load up on crap. I can buy a giant box of Hot Pockets for a third of the price of what I spend when I buy up the ingredients for the food which I’m actually required to cook. And I do like to cook. One of my favorite dishes to prepare is my Mexican Rice dish, which I’ve been playing with since I was seventeen, and evolved from me following directions on a box of Rice-a-Roni to hearty meal made from scratch with fresh vegetables and meat. I’ve even started making it as a pasta dish now, as I really like the colored spiraled pasta, and the way they add just a little bit more color. But those veggies and meat do not come cheap, and even though I make enough to last a couple of days, it’s still a bigger commitment to my checkbook than something I can just toss in the microwave.

If we had guts as a nation (pun intended), we would subsidize nutrition and tax the hell out of junk food. Let’s go after high fructose corn syrup like we went after tobacco. We have the technology to deliver fresh produce all across the country, and yet we insist upon cramming garbage down our throats because the up-front cost is cheaper. The poor among us should have access to the best food we can offer, if only to offset the health risks which their environment provides. Change is never easy, especially when it comes to the subject of our vices, but this is a matter of public health, and we absolutely must do better. We’re hardwired to seek out fat and salt and sugars because in the wild they’re few and far between, but when hunting and gathering only requires a quick trip to the market, maybe we should look back toward moderation. I’d actually like to see a Junk Food Prohibition, wherein all the crap which we consume becomes black market commodities. I’m envisioning back-alley dealings for a box of Twinkies. And it’s not like with alcohol or narcotics. Gangs of obese and over-tired people hardly pose a threat to a police department running off of something besides coffee and doughnuts.

I don’t know. I’ve been a fat ass since puberty, and until recently, was indistinguishable from the pod of beached orcas from whence I came. Aside from those couple of years long ago when I was happy looking skeletal, I’ve always packed a little reserve to get me through the winter. Ironically enough, the one time that blubber might have come in handy was when I was in the process of auditioning for the role of Skeletor. There’s nothing like camping through a winter in the Pacific Northwest when you weigh 8 stone. Hell, if I didn’t have a family I might consider something drastic like that again. As long as I could get a bare minimum of calories in me, the constant cold and movement to keep from freezing solid would make me bikini-ready by the time that spring arrived. I wouldn’t want to put my wife or son through that, though. My wife could never take that level of frigidity, and my son seems to possess the genetics of a skinny person, despite the appearance of his parents. No, I don’t suppose that plan will ever come to pass. Which means that if I want to ever stop being such a fat ass, I guess I’m going to have to just start somewhere.

I’ll have to give up all the candy which I’ve justified eating because I’m a grownup and can eat whatever the hell I please. And all the soda’s got to go as well. I should probably give up caffeinated beverages, as stress can pack the pounds on, and nothing screams “Fight or Flight” like going a million miles an hour (or, as I call it: Surviving Monday). That also means no chips or crackers, or salsa con queso dip. And I’ll have to substitute the butter in my recipes for extra virgin olive oil. The upside is that I’ll finally be justified in buying buffalo instead of beef, but I will miss consuming the majestic pig. Ughh… just thinking about this is depressing me. I think I’ll go and see if we’ve still got any cookies.