The joy of making New Year's Resolution, in order to have something to fail, comes to mind this time of year. For instance, one year I resolved to lose weight. My weight has stayed vindictively static ever since. I acknowledge that I find this rather interesting and feel reassured, that should a famine ever occur, I will be a survivor since it seems nothing ever seems to change my layer of insulation.
I am not going to resolve to lose weight again. It simply will not make any difference to my rotundity. If my fat is going to take leave of my person it will have to decide to give me up on its own. There is no use trying to overcome it since I always lose the battle, which no doubt gives the fat an excuse to make fun of me.
Lately I noticed my nice wall of blubber does not keep me warm any more. I am used to being too warm and, when I had to buy leg warmers and put on a toque while Hubby was sitting around in jeans and a t-shirt, I realized my fat is no longer supplying me with anything to earn its keep.
Fat that does not warm is worse than no fat at all. What's the point of fat if it merely serves as an excuse to shop at the big and short store? I feel deserted and more than a little resentful that my fat has stopped warming me in the dead of winter. Now it's little more than window dressing and not a pretty sight either.
Perhaps a resolution about certain exercises would be more fruitful although I'm almost positive more exercise creates a certain panic in my fat cells. Panic in fat cells is a serious thing. Panicked fat cells cling ever more furiously to whatever part of a person's anatomy they prefer.
For instance, bottom fat cells (you know what bottom) have a way of settling in whenever they notice exercise. I realize that the medical profession has pronounced that bottom fat cells don't shorten the life span of the host, but I don't really want all of my fat cells to suddenly slide to the bottom. I'd have to buy new jeans and the old ones aren't worn out yet.
Dolly Parton built up a long-term career around top fat cells and, judging from the way her bottom fat cells disappeared a few years ago, we might think top fat cells can embarrass bottom fat cells out of existence. However, Dolly may have cheated, as her remaining top fat cells are far too extensive, and her bottom fat cells far too skimpy, for us to believe the top fat cells didn't have a little technical help to be so plump, so well rounded.
My fat cells don't believe I should be comparing myself to movie stars. In fact, my fat cells are absolutely certain they have nothing to fear from movie producers. They are certain they have nothing to fear from exercise so why fear anything else, right?
I made some goodies and I can feel my fat cells calling for sustenance whenever I go near the kitchen. I have a drink of water and leave secure in the knowledge that no matter how little I eat I will have company for the duration. Yes, my fat cells, my exercise mat and me, together forever.
Yet, there is hope for the hopeless. I hear the tiny bit of Yoga I perform might do wonders if I were to make a habit of doing it more during the day. This could be true.
The first Yoga instructions I ever watched were shown on television. The Yoga instructor looked like she was 100 years old. Despite her advanced years, there she was on the floor tying her skinny legs behind her head and advising those of us who were unfamiliar with Yoga to take it a little easy on ourselves while trying to duplicate her position.
Yes, after seeing the skinny, ancient, Yoga instructor stick her legs up beside her ears I was so inspired I went in the kitchen and ate half a pie to celebrate her technique.
Beefs or bouquets to margohannah@yahoo.com please.
