Bodacious Boomer

I’m happy to report that our pack has been reunited. We arrived home late last night, much to the delight of Daisy, Blackie and Blondie. As soon as they heard the key turn the howling commenced, followed by an inordinate amount of tail wagging, jumping and puppy kisses as soon as we entered. It was great to be home to my bed, and better yet to discover that everyone that stayed behind was happy and healthy. It was as it should be of course, but so vastly different than the we found them after our last trip. Giz hopped out of my arms and chased the twins through the dog door to the back yard. Life is good.

Now that the pack is all healthy again and I’m done traveling for a while I must once again face my lack of willpower. Overall I’ve been pretty successful in my life- willpower-ly speaking. I was a bartender who never became an alcoholic. I tried recreational drugs a few times a lifetime ago, way before Doug.  (Nothing too harsh, no needles or such.) I was able to walk away from all that, no problem. I’m not a buying or hoarding junkie. (Although I live with one.) I don’t gamble excessively. I don’t smoke.  And I’m not a sex addict.

Not that Doug would have a problem with that anyway.

No, I’ve got to get back on the wagon to Healthville. I know the way. I’ve been there before. Hell, I’ve even driven the damn wagon, picking other folks up along the way. That climb up to the wagon just seems so much steeper every time I have to do it now. And my real problem is that once I get there, I get complacent. Complacency is my kryptonite.

Here’s how it’s gone in the past- I’m feeling good, looking better, the doctor’s happy with my all my numbers. I can relax for a bit- just a weekend off won’t hurt.

That’s bad Michele thinking again.

Bad Michele has been back for awhile now. She’s a lot of fun. No doubt about it. But she is the queen of bad decision making so just like all the times before, that bitch has just got to go. She’s overstayed her welcome for sure this time for sure; and I fear that if I don’t evict her butt now, within a few years my ass might literally be so big that a forklift would be needed to get it, and the rest of me, outta this house.

I’ve written about bad Michele a lot. Just do a quick search is you want to know more. Be warned- You may learn more than you ever wanted to.

I wonder if EST would help get rid of her permanently? Or perhaps a silver bullet?

Why is this so damn hard for me? At one time, in another life, my IQ was 131. I’m no dolt. I’m forgetful as all Hell now, but I’m not stupid.

Before we left for Austin, I bought a swim belt so I could deep water aerobics. There’s a class at 7am. (I just don’t know if I’m quite that motivated- at least not yet.) Besides, if you can’t touch the bottom of a pool, do you really need an instructor telling you to run in place? Is there more to it than that? If anyone knows, please tell me. Seriously- I want to know.

I’ve cleared any junk out of our cupboards. We didn’t have all that much anyway, but what was in there is gone now. So all I need now is to find a ex-nun to follow me around and rap my knuckles when I reach for the wrong thing- or too much of a good thing for that matter. Anyone know a nun looking for a job?

Be forewarned. I tend to get cranky when I’m hungry. But if I kicked Effexor cold turkey, this couldn’t be much worse, could it?

One word of caution: You may want to keep young children and the elderly off the streets for awhile til my blood sugar stabilizes.