Fat, Soft, Gooey, and Nothing Appealing (I apologize now for the length)

I'm off for a couple of days. I won't be posting again till Saturday, late Saturday. Also, I don't plan on keeping track of what I eat in New Orleans. I'm not going to worry about it until I'm home.

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Okay, so, I'm getting super paranoid and a little insecure. I know I've lost weight, plenty of people have been noticing!, but, well with seeing the most beautiful girl, I just kind of feel... fat. And soft. And gooey. And nothing appealing.

Crap.

I need to get back on the horse, but a couple of crunches and leglifts won't do squat tonight. I'll still be fat, soft, gooey, and nothing appealing.

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"My mind is a neighborhood I try not to go into alone."
Anne Lamott

Okay, I need to relax, all the insecurities are simply just little neurons going off in my head.

It's like the devil is whispering in my ear: "You're fat. And Hairy. And that's about it."

The moment I publish this post will be the last time I enter my brain and think about my stomach. Or side boobs. Or arms. Or legs. Or love handles. Or butt. Or hair. Or facial hair. Or face.

Yep, no matter what I tell myself I need to remember first and foremost that I'm one studly guy because I'm made in the image of God, and from the pictures I've seen he's ripped.

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Nope, those little affirmations didn't help. I still jiggle and feel all sorts of fat and softness and gooey.

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Maybe another Anne Lamott quote will help:

"I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish."

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A nice little practice I like to do when I get this way (about every other moment) is to sit back and remember that I'm more then just a body. That I have a soul, emotions, creativity, pride, religion, relationships, etc. Then I make a list.

I'm going to post that list, so deal with it. You should probably share with us all who you are. Or, at least remind yourself who you are.

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- friend.
- brother.
- son.
- stepson.
- boyfriend.
- musician.
- writer.
- hugger.
- kisser.
- artist.
- christian.
- open minded.
- open hearted.
- kind.
- forgiving.
- forgiven.
- dancer.
- story teller.
- driver of a really run down car (symbolic much?).
- slightly insane.
- sleep deprived.
- over slept.
- poet.
- reader.
- youth pastor.
- coffee drinker.
- 20 years old.
- beard artist.
- social networking addict.
- pixar enthusiast.
- folk music fan.
- rap music fan.
- country music fan.
- jazz music fan.
- coldplay fan.
- poor.
- student.
- friendship evangelizer.
- quirky.
- comedian.
- former dispatcher.
- former chiropractic assistant with an emphasis in massage therapy.
- former deck sander/stainer.
- former leads generator.
- former chic'n'dip ice creamer maker.
- lead in my senior production.
- performer.
- preacher.
- teacher.
- hugger.
- cuddler.
- head rubber.
- foot masseuse.
- jolly.
- seemingly confident.
- impatient.
- (sexy) barista.
- blue eyed.
- killer sideburns.
- dog owner.
- former cat owner.
- couch sleeper.
- basement dweller.
- obnoxious, in a good way.
- slightly self-indulgent.
- Santa Clause-esque.
- walker.
- dreamer.
- democrat.
- space cowboy.

Mostly though:
- loved.

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I'd post my diet and exercise. But, I'm starting to feel good again.

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BIRD ATTACK COUNT: 16
DAYS-WITHOUT-SODA-POP-O-METER: 17
WATER GAUGE: approx. 60 oz.
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All The Love My Massive Heart Can Give,
tommy

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P.S.: I'll post some pictures and I'll get back on the horse on Sunday.