Lorraine Says: The Five Pounds

My mother sometimes tries to scare me by saying I’m obviously plagued by any number of vague physical maladies.

“Lorena, it’s not possible that someone your age is tired all the time. You must have something wrong. A deficiency. Maybe something worse.”

Uh, who said anything about being tired? I happen to like reading in pajamas like other people like the outdoors and stuff.




And, alright, fine, maybe I’m tired. With so many crazy things going on, I’ve become an energy conservation expert. I feel like I’m constantly expending energy on stuff like peace keeping, future planning, rumor controlling, Serious Talk having, and being okay-ing. Mix in work and church and maintaining key friendships, and, well, whenever none of that is going on, I shut down. I hibernate. I watch Netflix. A lot.

While it certainly feels like I’m working overtime simply “being okay,” I have quickly come to learn that “being okay” doesn’t actually burn any calories. LAME.

It’s all a sick cycle, because now, if I ever feel like maybe I want to put pants on, I’m finding that said pants are fitting a little snug and I no longer want to put pants on.

This is not an “I’m fat” post, let’s make that clear. Fat and skinny are relative terms. I mean, sure, you can call me fat, and then I’d call your mother fat, and which one of us is right, you know?

This is a post about The Five Pounds*. Not any ‘ole five pounds, but those motherlovin’ five pounds that always seem to show back up even though, didn’t I just get rid of you?



This is probably what five pounds looks like, right?

 I’ve always been a weight yo-yo-er. The worst is waking up on that morning, catching a glimpse of yourself and realizing: the five pounds are back.

I recently got into a conversation about working out with my co-workers. They are all running on New Year’s Resolution steam. I’m talking doing Zumba at lunch, instead of, you know, eating, which is how I personally prefer to spend my lunch. Bert Gordon is going to a gym that specializes in crazy work out routines and yelling at you “motivation.”

Everyone was talking about having some sort of external motivation, whether it’s a group of friends or co-workers, or sweaty fit men yelling “you can do it!” while you climb a rope.

Uh, no. No to all of it. I am just NOT motivated by any of that. Actually it turns me off. The more I hear, “C’MON LORRAINE,” the more my brain says, “hell to the no.” Oh, I shouldn’t give up? I suddenly feel like giving up sooner. I can do it? I’m suddenly sure I can’t.

If I’m ever motivated to do anything, to really stick to anything, it has to be born inside of myself.

I asked a few friends what motivates them, mostly in an effort to make sure I wasn’t the only crazy who didn’t like peer motivation. One person told me anger motivates them, which often leads to a fat-but-happy lifestyle. I remembered that the skinniest I’ve ever been in my life was when I was unemployed and depressed. Yeah. Not doing that again.

It really isn’t about skinny, though, at this point. If it were a matter of fat-but-happy, I’d never say a word. I’m currently fluffy-and-uncomfortable.

And dammit, I just want my pants to fit!

I'm curious about what motivates others. Clearly, I'm quite the bear when life gets hard- call me when it's over. I'll be over here sleeping. Anyone else? Anyone? Anyone?

Anyhow, I'm gonna go get a salad for lunch or something.

Much love for your faces,

*I'm not actually sure if I've gained five pounds but The Ten Pounds had less of a ring to it. Also, it scared the crap out of me. Five it is.