I have an old friend in Louisiana who’s standard answer to “How are you?” has always been “Fat and sassy.” It always tickled me to hear him say that.

When someone asks me how I’m doing lately, I say “oh, I’m fine” when I really want to just mutter “ugh”. That’s pretty much how I’ve been feeling lately. I’ve let myself get fat. Again. And y’all know I’m still as sassy as ever.

I just can’t find the same motivation I had when I lost 60 pounds back in 2004. Mainly because he’s dead and sitting in an urn on my mantle. Well, most of him anyway.

2004? That was a lifetime ago for me.

My entire existence has changed, my metabolism has changed, I have changed. Back then I had a gym 5 minutes from home, friends to work out with, and a somewhat structured schedule that afforded me lots of time to exercise.

See those words I typed above?

EXCUSES.

I pass two exits with 24 hour fitness centers on my way to work. I belong to the gym here in town. An incline trainer sits behind me, needing only 4 bolts I could buy at one of my many trips to Lowe’s to make it work again. I know how to eat healthy, and I know that I MUST exercise in order to lose weight. I know that eating 5 or 6 twizzlers and drinking two glasses of wine at 10 pm after I did Zumba or walked several miles hours earlier is BAD BAD BAD. I’m physically not too terribly out of shape, but I’m out of my comfort zone, and I’m heavier than I want to be. I’ve reached my fat gal plateau and I’m ready to roll right off and land someplace between Plump Place and Skinny Town, USA. Especially when I have a closetful of clothes that I used to look fabulous in just waiting for me to put them in the sequel.

I’ve made the promise to myself to get back to where I was physically comfortable a few times since Gregory died, and I’ve broken it each time. Blame it on laziness, widowhood, grief, whatever, it has just been me and only me doing it. Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame.

That would be me.

By no means am I going to quit living life for every precious minute. I am not going to deprive myself of good food, good wine and good times, I’m just going to try and do it a wee bit less. And I know I my limitations and my expectations are realistic. I’m a big girl, always have been. The Trimble side of the family has large people in it, and I got those genes. I’m cool with that, but I’m tired of broken promises and broken buttons, tired of my own excuses. I’m an idiot for not yet seizing the opportunity I have with this move, a new place, a new town, to make myself new again. I haven’t been completely useless, I’ve lost a little weight, but not enough. I turned down a margarita AND Girl Scout cookies the other day people, so I’m trying! I’ve also cut down on the booze, and I’m trying to stop the snacks and the late night eating,and the quick fix of a drive-thru.

So today, completely out of character for me, I asked for help. I went to a doctor that monitors a program and your health and began that journey. My blood pressure, as usual, was normal – 122/76. My sugar, cholesterol and other indicators were fine. I’m 5-10 and hell no I’m not going to tell you what I weigh, but I am definitely overweight. As the doctor said, I carry it well because of my frame, but I am not interested in “carrying it well”. I want to fling it around fabulously while flames shoot out of my butt and my tiger blood boils. Yep, I just used a Sheenism.

I also got my bike back in shape, put the carrying rack on my jeep, signed up for spring softball, and put my kayak back in the water. Now I just have to put it into motion. At last.

A friend of mine posted something a few days ago that I LOVE and am going to use as one of many tools to motivate my slacker self.

No more excuses. Well, not that many. Heh.

The train to Kimtastic is once again boarding, help me make sure I stay on track, won’t you please?

Wake up. Reach over to the other side of the bed. Open your eyes and see the urn. It wasn’t a bad dream.

Mentally check your calendar to see if there is any reason to get up and deal with the world today.

Silently curse the reason there is.

Shower. Brush teeth. Try not to stare at his toothbrush, his razor, his stuff sitting on his sink. Smile at your favorite picture of the two of you wedged in the mirror to check your teeth.

Dress. Try to wear matching shoes and remember to button and zip everything. Maybe even brush hair.

Keys. Where the hell are they ?

Notice the clock. Peel out of driveway at warp speed.

Pick up the phone to call the attorney, bank, probate court, people who want money.

Where the hell is the phone?

Turn around, warp speed home. Silently curse more.

Decide to go to bedroom door instead of through garage for time management. Get to bedroom door. Reach in pocket for key.

Where the hell is the key ?

In the ignition of the car. That’s still running. That you actually remembered to put in park. (this time)

Get key.

Enter.

Get phone.

No missed calls. No one calls anyway. Who call’s for death?

Stand in middle of room because you can’t remember what to do next.

Oh. The world. Right.

Smile at picture again. Kiss urn goodbye, say out loud ” See you later baby ! ”

Get to car.

Locked.

Keys hanging in bedroom door.

Curse LOUDLY.

Get keys. Warp speed out into the world.

Hello world.

Smile. Nod. Smile.

Keep nodding.

Say hello !

I’m fine !

Thanks !

How are you ?

That’s great !

Wow !

Yes !

See you later !

I’ll be ok !

Nod.

Smile.

See a person wearing scrubs from the hospital he died at.

Look away.

Tell yourself don’t think about IT.

Don’t even go there. IT wasn’t your fault.

What if I’d …….

I said stop, didn’t I ?

Smile.

Nod.

Get an overwhelming urge to hide in the bathroom until they force you to come out.

Suppress the urge.

Go into a store. Hear a song he used to sing (off-key) to you.

Leave store like your behind is on fire. Wipe tears.

Say the hell with the day.

Go home.

Get mail.

Look at bills. Read letters addressed to “The Estate Of……”

Laugh and say something about blood and turnips.

Bubble bath. Relax.

Look over at the counter where he’d sit and talk to you while you were in the bubble bath.

Close eyes. Stop thinking about it.

Pajamas.

Hungry.

Oops, didn’t go to the grocery store. Was running low on smiles and nods, couldn’t take it.

Hello Pizza Man.

Talk to the friends that live in your computer and watch happy TV shows where no one dies.

Get back in bed.

Toss and turn.

Can’t get comfortable.

Can’t turn mind off.

What was that creak ?

Who just said my name?

Sleep.

Dream. There he is ! Happy dreams. Mostly.

Til 3 am.

Hello Insomnia !

Milk. Maybe a cookie. Or peanut butter. Or cheese. Possibly both.

Play Words With Friends.

Get sleepy.

Fall asleep.

Wake up. Reach over …….

Lather, rinse, repeat.

I’m playing hooky from widow school tonight. Yes, I’m a bad widow. It just wasn’t in me to go sit in a group of people who feel as bad or perhaps worse than me and “hug it out”. Not that we actually do a lot of hugging, I just needed a metaphor for how it makes me feel. I was tired and whiny from two days of retail customer hell and just could not do it. So I stopped by Whole Foods and fixed myself an antipasta tray for dinner, got some warm french bread , flavored olive oil and a bottle of wine. Then I stopped at Best Buy and splurged on David J’s new limited edition box set. By 5 pm I was bathed and in a pair of Greg’s pajamas, sitting in his chair with a 78 pound puppy trying to crawl in my lap, watching my favorite weatherman. This is what I wanted to do. So I did it. Bad widow.

I had a pretty good weekend with my friends, but it was alwaysrighthere waiting. It. Oh and him. Dr. Lecter made an appearance in the pool Saturday afternoon while I was sitting with my friends and they just held me and tried to help. It was only for a few minutes but damn, why did I let him get to me???? Jerk.

I took lots of pics and drank lots of blue waboritas and danced and got lots of sun and laughed a lot and heard how I was missed and caught up on gossip and I actually felt good for awhile (bigtime run on sentence I know get over it! ). And I am glad I went, even though now I have some guilt about it and. But I went, and that’s one way of healing, and guilt is supposedly natural, and normal. It sure does suck though.

But the whole time I felt like I was playing hooky. I had this nagging feeling in my head that I should be sitting at home wearing a black veil and sobbing around an 8×10 and a candle. I don’t know why. I just did. And that is so not me. Drinking 10 or so blue waboritas while sitting in a huge salt water pool with 80′s music and my closest friends is so me…so I let it be me for the weekend. And I hope that being me starts to come without the guilty interest rate. Oh I will never be me again, because that me is gone. She went away on March 20th of this year, never to return.

I kind of have a new me now. Notice she’s not in italics. I am not quite sure where she belongs or where she should go or what she is going to do. I just know she’s here now, and she’s the new Kim. This Kim lives minute by minute, kinda like the old one, but this time with an additional helping of cautious pessimism. I hope a little of the old Kim comes along for the ride, cause wherever she’s playing hooky, I sure do miss her.

I won’t bore yall with alot of pictures…..but here’s the link to my gallery… Girls Hard Rock Weekend 2009…..