Well ass might not be the right word. Gut might be more accurate, gut and thighs. I blame my weight gains on "drug weight." Having lived my late adult life on bipolar drugs, I have become accustomed to the ups and down of drug weight. For a long season last year at this time I was taken off antidepressants--my moods stabilized by a mood stabilizer. I lost forty pounds fairly rapidly. Antidepressants are notorious for weight gain and is one of the reasons it is difficult keep women on them. I have come to the conclusion that I'd rather be a little fat and happy than bone thin and depressed. I did well for a long time just mood stabilized. But then came the inevitable symptoms of depression creeping in on tiny cats paws. Irritability is the first clue. The inability to sleep is another--either that or sleeping all the time.
My young friend Melea, comes to visit three or four times a week. So she notices the things I eat. Lately for breakfast I've been having corn bread and cantaloupe--it's fetish eating, I know, but healthy, I thought. The corn bread comforts the Texas girl in me, and the cantaloupe is fruit for god's sake. I heat my rather large slice of corn bread for a few seconds, then slather it with butter which melts nicely on the warm, fragrant corn bread, and then fill the rest of the plate with cantaloupe pieces--enough so that each bite of corn bread is followed by the cool sweet taste of cantaloupe.
So last time Melea was here, I was bitching about the weigh-in at the doctor's office--146 lbs. Ack! 120 is my ideal weight, 130 isn't bad, but 146 is fat. I'm shrinking from my models height of 5'8"--probably down to 5'6 1/2". So the 146 doesn't look the same on me as it would have when I was taller. The main problem is that last years clothes do not fit. Fortunately I keep a pair of fat jeans for just this sort of occasion. So while Melea listened to me bitch about my gut, she got one of my little boxes of Jiffy Corn Bread Mix out of my cupboard and read the ingredients. Lard was the third ingredient. And I must say, coming from Texas where good cooks know the value of lard, I wasn't horrified like Melea was. She is just a boneless, skinless grilled chicken breast short of vegetarianism. She doesn't make pie pastry, or pastry of any kind. But I know that pie pastry is best made with lard, not butter, though butter is an OK
Then there is the lack of real exercise. Yeah, I take my old dog for a walk or two a day, but these are not long walks--designed more to keep joints working than walk-off fat. And then I sit at my computer reading blogs and news papers, waiting for the major news shows to start. Usually this would be the season I'd be obsessed with my garden, but it's been cold and rainy. And since I got Cyrus, I've noticed that he hates the vacuum cleaner--giving me just the excuse I need not to vacuum clean. Then yesterday I had to get together some papers for the financial aid folks at Intermountain Health Care Hospital billing department. I have a big filing cabinet, and finding things isn't all that hard, but once I pull stuff out of files, they tend to get pilled up on one surface or another, not to get filed again until some cleaning frenzy forces me to get organized again. Well today's the day. First I'll have my warm buttery cornbread with it's compliment of ice cold, peeled. bite sized cantaloupe, then I'll get my lard ass in gear and clean this place. And if I have any time left over, I'm going to the thrift store to buy a new spring wardrobe, sized 12 probably.
Fear not America, I am still here
23 minutes ago