I'm sad to report that it has come to this: Everything in my life revolves around maintaining a body weight that will allow me to fit in my size 34 pants. My mentality is this: No matter how bad things get, no matter how deeply I feel my flaws and failings as a father, a husband, a writer, a college English instructor, a friend, and a human being, my being able to fit in a 34 waist gives me a safety net separating me from the bottomless pit.
As I write this, it is 17 days before Christmas and there have been a lot of high-calorie food occasions (gluttony tantamount to Yuletide cheer) and while I’m too afraid to weigh myself, I find a tightness in my jeans that wasn’t there six weeks ago. I’m scared and yet this fear is not abating my holiday-fueled appetites and observing this lack of efficacy from the anxiety that results from wearing tight 34 pants is creating yet another layer of anxiety.
So for me the holidays are anxiety-laden. I have no pants bigger than size 34 and a trip to the clothing store to buy bigger pants is the next step to removing my safety net.
So what are the holidays to me? Nothing more than a conspiracy to make me fat and to send me over the Corpulence Cliff. How deep is this conspiracy? Let me tell you, people who can't see me in person are actually sending me desserts in the mail.
Happy Holidays, Everyone.
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