Don’t Let Me Get Me

“Alright, your limit is 11 chips. That’s all you get for now.”
“Great! Sounds fair!”
*munch munch*
“Ok, you have nine left. I’m just trying to warn you, so it’s not a surprise.”
“I appreciate it!
*munch munch munch munch*
“Five more, then the bag gets put away.”
“Don’t worry, I’m pacing myself.”
*munch munch munch munch*
“Last one!”
“Yep, I know! I’m excited about this whole portion control idea!”
*munch*
“Alright, chip time is over, let me just—”
“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE, WHORE!”
*Crams entire bag of chips into gaping maw*

This isn’t Conversations With a Foul-Mouthed Two Year Old, this is just me talking to myself. I seem to have a problem with authority, but only when it’s mine. It’s like whenever I decide I’m going to do something new, there’s a part of my brain that replies with, “Oh really? Well we’ll see about that!” and immediately starts planning my demise.

Goddammit bitches, we’re in this together!!

Clearly, I don’t finish a lot of tasks. My crowing achievement has been 31 years of continuous breathing, and reading the entire Harry Potter series. I’m racking my brain, but I honestly think that may be the only thing I’ve ever completed (I’d count marriages, but apparently the goal is NOT to be finished with them. Just when I thought I had this shit figured out…).

I start off with the best of intentions. I get motivated, I map out my course, I buy a cute pair of shoes (everyone knows you can’t learn to knit without comfy slip-ons), I tell everyone I know so I can use the pressure of not letting them down to keep me going, I make it a week in, and then I take a nap. My life is littered with half-done crafts, supplies for projects I never started, work out calendars with 1/3 of the days marked out, and an endless supply of guilt.

I come up with different strategies to keep myself going. Being easier on myself – that just lead to more naps. Quitting things cold turkey – orrrrr, not at all. Motivational quotes strewn up along my main route – by the time I got done making them, I was exhausted and forgot what I was doing it for. Baby stepping – I made it to step 3, then napped. Accountability buddy – endless excuses, or avoidance. Tough love – hatred and crying.

So I’m at it again. This time, I’m taking on multiple things at once, in an effort to make this a complete lifestyle makeover, not just one part of my routine that I can easily change back to the old way. I’m tracking how much water I drink, how many calories I eat, making shopping lists, coming up with a nightly routine, attempting yet another work-out calendar, changing my work habits, taking part in the #100happydays challenge, and trying a new face wash.

Really, the thing I’m most excited about, and most certain I will fail at, is the 100 happy days. All you have to do is post a picture of something that makes you happy, every day, for 100 days. That’s a lot more than 24 (the farthest I’ve ever made it into a 30 day challenge). But as they keep pointing out, if you don’t have time to be happy, what do you have time for?

Thus far, I’m a little miserable. Because I’m realizing that far too much of my happiness is dependent on other people. I sit quietly, doing nothing other than waiting for someone to notice me. To remember I exist and ask how I am. To need just me. I’m not really sure what could be more selfish and useless than that, really. But when whatever part of my brain it is that fights off my best laid plans does so, it’s not always loudly and with great obnoxiousness. Sometimes it’s with self-pity and quiet sadness.

Still, I’ll keep trying. Even if it kills me. Which it very well might, if I only get to eat 1100 calories a day.