I’m having a “nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I think I’ll go eat worms” kind of week (see below for full rhyme) This means I’m not just fat, I’m also paranoid and self-absorbed. (You’ll begin to recognise these hormonal phases, my six valued subscribers.) That’s very bad timing for an appointment with my psychologist because I appear waaay more unhinged than normal. “Not everything is about you,” she says when I’ve finished ranting about the friend who hasn’t returned my calls (ok, one call), because (obviously) she hates me. And the mum who hasn’t offered a reciprocal playdate. Hates me (and my child). And the former work colleague who’s cancelled lunch. Hates me – I’m so boring and suburban now. Or is it because I talk about myself too much? Then there’s the producer who didn’t gets back to me about my script. Hates it. The psychologist calmly assures me that I’m making decisions based on assumptions not facts. People have busy lives that they get caught up in. They’re not all sitting around contemplating their navels in front of a computer. I’m supposed to “unhook” from my anxiety and “practice mindfulness”. “Mindfulness” is focussing on your breathing or how your arm feels as it rests on your stomach or what noises you can hear in a room, instead of working yourself into a lather at midnight about whether you should turn Sprog 2’s bedroom into a walk-in wardrobe and ensuite. Not as easy as it sounds (both the “unhooking” and positioning the toilet cistern) when you have anxiety pumping through your veins instead of blood. I’ve even tried botox in my jaw to stop my constant teeth clenching (this was in addition to my vanity botoxing, but also kept secret from Husband … until now). It stopped the clenching – though thankfully not my ability to chew steak, a very rare side-effect I was assured – but I just got tension headaches instead. I’ve promised the psychologist I’ll try to be a “blue sky” and let the negative thoughts “float past like clouds”. But I’m not sure I have it in me. Luckily I’m going on holidays soon, so I used that as an excuse not to make another appointment. I think she bought it. Or maybe she was just relieved she wouldn’t have to listen to my whingeing anymore. Yeah, that’s it: she hates me too.
Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me. I think I’ll go eat worms. Fat ones, skinny ones, short ones, long ones, ones that squiggle and squirm. Bite their heads off, suck their guts out, throw their skins away-hey-hey. I like them so much, I eat them three times a day.
TONIGHT’S MENU: Worms (just kidding). Spag bol pies (Sprogs, Husband), spag bol mince on grilled eggplant (me, sigh).