(Ten Tree Hill)
God damn it. 225 pounds. We went to the doctor's office today, a regular checkup for Rhys. He was fine. I was not. I've been on what some would consider a difficult diet for months. I've only lost 7 pounds. No dairy, no fried foods, no soda. The no-dairy part many would consider very difficult, if not extreme. Try it. It is not easy. Every restaurant puts butter in their food, even the "vegetarian" dishes, I promise. Ask any vegan.
We were there for Rhys to get a regular checkup. He was fine. I think I've already said that. He has grown 6 inches in 3 months, approx. The boy is the very picture of health, a testament to it. He daily celebrates growth in millimeters.
But me, I was distraught, inconsolable. I stood there, staring down at this medieval contraption, this visual torture device. How could this be? I adjusted, then readjusted the weights. The lead told no lies. 225. I watched the scale balance itself. 225. I stepped off and stepped on again. 225. I made sure it balanced out at 0 lbs., tried again.
I don't understand it. My jeans were fitting better, mirrors had stopped smirking and began smiling at me, I could breathe without huffing. I stopped avoiding unnecessary stairs. I had stopped double-guessing beer. My teeth were whiter. Hair had returned to its rightful place upon my crown. I had brought halt to the unceasing guilt. I was ready to get naked in front of crowds again. All of that.
Why me, why now? I was on the verge of happiness, the cusp of contentment.... Now I must commit to even darker extremities in diet. I have no idea where the additional prudence will emerge from; from what corner of the spirit I will be pressed to tap, some dark recess of the militant meal mind. I will eat my own hunger for lunch.
I was going to stop there. I began to re-read these paragraphs, to scan them for typos or errors, when I scanned the first paragraph all I saw was, "We went to the doctor's office today, a regular porkchop...."