While not so "Notebook/John Sparks"-ish, my love affair does hold true to these characteristics. There is definitely emotion involved, moments of complete glee, absolute rage, utter denial, none-stop tears, and/or false proclamations of "I don't give a crap."
There, too is intimacy. I share private and vulnerable "Claudia", often being very nude and raw. Quite frankly, there can be no lies on my part. It's impossible, and believe me, I have tried. But he clearly shows me the truth, every time, and no matter the excuses, he lays before me the consequence of my decisions. No feelings are spared. And this hard-core lack of tact just keeps me coming back for more and makes my desire grow. Such a cliche!
Desire. Don't get me started on desire. I yearn to feel him every morning and every night. If I am home for the day, I will go to him at least 4-5 times. It's an addiction of massive proportions, and I am at his beck and call.
Just like all love affairs, the only way for it to simmer down and fizzle is for it to be exposed to the public. It all becomes real and, when others are involved, all of a sudden accountability seems like a factor that should have been considered well before the wall (and under-roos) came down!
So, now it is my time to expose myself.
Ladies and gentleman, I present to you, my lover:
My red and pink WeightWatchers scale. See, we've had a on-going on-again, off-again understanding for quite some time. We were oh so off-again for the first 7 months of this year. Now, we are on again. At first, it was quite an adjustment. You know how it is. When you are so used to being on your own, doing your thing, and eating a third donut from the pantry at work, to have to then accommodate this entity, who, at one point held a very important place in your life, but now, had to be re-introduced to your life, is a tremendous challenge. This was confirmed when I took my first step on the scale in 7 months, and had to come head to head and digest (without barfing) the hard truth.
June 15th, 2011: 169.7 pounds
I held my breath for 10 seconds. I just couldn't believe it. Granted, I had just returned from an all-inclusive vacation from the Dominican republic, but I had put on 20 pounds in 7 months. That's like 3 babies, or 2 cats (at least my cats), or 20-lbs worth of cheesecake!
Suffice it to say, I was not a happy camper, and, again, while I had been a "pro" (no such thing, by the way) at this weight loss crap, and while I should know better, a nice and toasty snickers bar was looking mighty good the morning of my first weigh-in.
Anyway, with all that said and done, I knew the scale was a major tool in losing the weight. It just had to be in a more controlled and healthy way. On my terms, and for my benefit.
Therefore, today marks the day that I will record my weekly weigh-in for the world (because it's news-worthy, kind of up there with J-Lo's divorce, the Kardashian butt-cheek, and this little national debt-ceiling side bar thingamajibby).
So here goes:
August 2nd, 2011: 159.6
In the course of 6 weeks, I've lost 10 pounds. And I am elated. And I am giddy. And I am grateful for my scale.
It doesn't have to be a dysfunctional relationship. This time around, I want to treat it as a place to celebrate. Even if one week I don't lose, or, dare I say it, gain something. Because that means I am human and I have a pulse and I am alive. Hey, that's always worth celebrating!!
So I propose the notion of continuing this love affair, but knowing that it is healthy and that I have control. That I step on you, Scale, when I want. And that, ultimately, I realize my happiness is in my hands, not in the 3 x 4 digital box on the red and white device that goes so nicely with my dressing room wall color.