Metaphors About Space
I started this diary almost a year ago. Since then, if I may admit, I’ve made some pretty amazing changes to myself. I daresay I’m kind of proud. I’ve lost a chunk of weight, I’ve shown you, the faceless people of the Internet, my tits. Twice even. But more than that, I’ve changed as a person. Last year's me would be totally jealous of today's me, and that’s a good feeling.
But I’m concerned.
I haven’t really lost any significant weight in months, and I think I know why. Past Riley, Fat(ter) Riley, is still gripping onto my slightly smaller shirt. He's a girthy black hole, and I very well might be at my event horizon.
People like to use the term "roller coaster" when talking about weight-loss adventures, but let me be clear: If I am in fact the outlier of Riley weight, the fringe the only accurate description of my ascent back up Chubbs Mountain will be "Sling shot." I will be flung back so quickly my pants will rip, like a really sad Hulk. This cannot be allowed to happen.
When I moved to Seattle, Flesh Wizard advised me that I would be entering a "heads down” period of my life. That was four years ago. I still very much think that is where I’m at now. Not to run the metaphor into the ground, but every year I think I can raise my head a little bit, and every year something else uniquely painful or discouraging comes along. The fact that I haven’t yet backslid, not yet, into the the old me is awesome. It's pretty awesome.
I can’t even compare the Riley of yesteryear to the Riley of today. I don’t know that guy at all. Although he’d probably be super annoyed at the Riley of today's usage of third person.
