Watch out Kansas City, she's having a fat day.
It seemed like a good plan in theory. I was going to get up at 5 a.m. and go to the gym. I was going to work out for an hour and then go home, shower and head to work. I was going to feel good all day in my cube knowing that I had actually awoken before dawn, taken my messy half-asleep, bead-headed self to the gym and could, therefore, eat however I wanted and not worry about canceling extra calories out with exercise. Plainly, I wasn’t going to worry about missing a workout because I had to attend a concert tonight or about gaining the typical 10 pounds of holiday weight or about feeling sluggish or burnt out. “Yes,” I thought, “getting up at 5 a.m. is my answer to worry and anxiety and who really needs sleep anyway?”
I did wake up at 5 a.m. But it was cold and dark and my flannel pajamas were warm and the covers were snuggly and Gus was curled up in a ball right next to me and the entire world was still sleeping, so I decided that I should keep sleeping, too. And, that’s what I did. I slept and slept and in my dreams, I was at the gym sweating it out on the treadmill and then the elliptical and then I was eating a candy bar and some ice cream and I was feeling great and like it didn’t matter and then the dream got weirder, which is when I started reading Vogue at the gym while sitting on a couch talking to my best friend from 8th grade. I was also about 16 and was wearing glasses and classic fit Gap jeans. After that, we went on a walk around my high school. And good ol’ Sion looked just as I had remembered it and as I was checking out my old locker, my alarm went off and I woke up. Just in time to shower and head to the office and to my cube feeling gross and bloated and like I knew I would if I skipped the gym and had a bad hair day all at the same time.
Simply, I’m having a fat day. And, I’m wondering if boys ever have fat days or if it is just a female phenomenon like PMS and obscene amounts of empathy.