Gaining weight. The cherry on the stressed out sundae.

I am the only person I know who gains weight while doing more.  In this case, all the sorting, lugging, and lifting stuff in the hot sun to move out of my house.  I don’t eat as much, nor drink as much water, and yet…I gain weight.

About 13 year ago I moved to this house.  I remember the same scenario.  I worked so much harder than usual, and ate and drank so much less, I thought I would have dropped a lot of weight.  I GAINED weight.  That’s a really shitty bonus when you are already aggravated by moving.

My theory is that my body is in fight or flight mode.  It’s saying:

Uh…what the fuck is happening?  Why am I moving so much when my whole existence is geared toward homeostasis…zen…nirvana searching? 

Thirsty over here!  Where’s my baby Aspirin and old lady vitamin?  I ate a puny sandwich.  Now I’m full!  Nauseated, in fact.  Better eat something tastier.  Oh, I was wrong.  Now I’m REALLY sick.  I crave salt.  (eat chips)  Now I crave sugar (eat gumdrops)

Where’s my meditation and hypnosis? 

Better bulk up.  Retain fluid.  Get ready for…whatever it is that’s happening.  I may need to roll down a hill or something and protect myself with padding.

RELAX body.  You have never, ever, needed to roll down a hill.  R E L A X God damn it!  You’re such a drama queen.  You’re just going to sleep, eat, shower  and drink coffee in a new environment.  Oh, and you have to pack up all this shit and take it with you.

Usually, when it’s all over, I return to where I started.  Weight-wise, that is.  Will that happen this time?

Take a Xanax, body.  It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

 

 

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