Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

I had such a crappy day today, I can hardly stand it.

Work was pretty awful, with nit-picking supervisors and re-do’s and paperwork deadlines aplenty. That, of course, is on top of the general awful that my work sometimes entails — talking about abuse situations, setting firm boundaries with parents, and saying goodbye to the clients who are actually doing well.

My phone bill is overdue (apparently?) and I couldn’t call anyone to vent about the terrible day until I forked over some cash to T-mobile. That’s not such a big deal, except that the whole deal with getting informed about a raise and then not having that raise “go through” for 3 months is really, really crappy. I need money now. Today, in fact. Preferably wired directly to T-mobile so that I can call someone and bitch. Sure, the raise will be retroactive to a certain date, once it goes through, but that does me no good if I can’t pay my phone bill today.

I got home and the new dog had eaten the mail, the curtains, the towel over his crate, and the corner of a box holding my roommate’s vinyl records. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he eats the records themselves unless I buck up and crate him when I am gone. Meanwhile, I find shreds of things — curtains, towels, bills — everywhere.

Yes, this was the delightful day that I had selected for my first weigh-in.

It isn’t that September 5th is any sort of magical date. It’s approximately one month before my birthday, sure. It is close to Labor Day, and so might make for an easy way to remember anniversaries, but probably not. It’s back-to-school season, yes, and close to the Jewish High Holies, but none of that has anything to do with why today, of all days, I decided to weigh. To make an official start to things. To face the cold, hard facts.

Honestly, it has more to do with my crappy gym than anything. I would have weighed yesterday, a Monday and the beginning of a week and a nice day for a fresh start, but my gym membership does not allow me into the building on Monday. The gym is the only place with a scale serious enough to weigh me to which I have access at this point. The doctors at work have scales that measure up to 300 pounds, and someday that will be a goal. To weigh myself at work. But, for now, I go to the gym. (I hope the new gym has scales, too.)

But the fact is that I have been binging a lot. I have felt like my weight has been creeping up since I returned home from vacation. Actually, it’s not like things were so stellar before I left, either. Each day, I make decisions that are based more on convenience and placation of my emotions and less on health. But, I figured it was time to face the music and get very serious about whatever damage has been done.

And so, between clients tonight, I drove to the gym. I walked in, with no gym bag in my hand, in professional work clothes and heels. I got some funny looks from the staff, who might have lectured me about not bringing a hand towel for the equipment, if I had just pulled my hair into a ponytail or brought gym socks or in any way looked like I was there for a workout. I checked in with my ID and made them validate my parking for what I knew would be a 4-minute stop-off. I marched into the dressing room, kicked off my shoes, and weighed myself.

All of this is to say that today I weigh 330 pounds.