What me, happy?

I don't know about you but about the worst thing someone can wish for me to my face is for me to be happy. Nothing quite takes the wind out of my sails and makes me feel like I've accomplished nothing in my life. Am I alone here?

It's been a banner day. You know, feeling worse than usual about all that didn't get done on the weekend, overwhelmed and unprepared for the week ahead, less nuts than usual about the chick checking me out in the mirror after my shower. But I was plugging along until I dropped a piano on myself and my dad followed it with an anvil, just like in our favorite cartoons.

I've been at this exercise thing for a couple of years now and it's been great. I'm stronger, I feel better, my clothes fit better, and I kind of like my body. I decided almost that long ago that I wasn't going to gauge my progress via the scale since a number wasn't my goal and blah, blah, boring philosophy. Since I started, my pants are looser, I've had to buy new bras, and things fit that I couldn't even button before. My endurance has increased, I can run for the first time in years and not think I'm dying when I do it. It's been fantastically validating and has kept me motivated to keep investing in myself blah, blah, self affirmation.

I was curious about the number but knew that whatever it was, it wouldn't seem like enough. I never expected it would be more but indeed it is. Either I'm a muscle building mo-fo or I need some serious psychiatric intervention because I have *no* idea what the fuck I look like. Maybe the jackets that I think are zipping up have mangled busted zippers with fat spilling out of every crease and all I can see is a cleaner, smoother silhouette. Maybe I have finally lost my mind and am incapable of seeing myself. It's possible.

I feel a little crazy but the crotch kicker is I did this in front of my dad who is both a man and my dad which makes him the worst person to be armed with this information. First he suggested Weight Watchers which he started (again) 3 weeks ago after gaining 7 pounds in his previous 6 months on the program not attending meetings. I have never ever met a person who welcomes the suggestion that they should join Weight Watchers, AA, or that they look tired, or pregnant. People can not fucking help themselves can they? I was processing this hateful number that I knew better than to view and my dad was rambling on about how I'm the psychology major and what would I tell someone who engages in avoidance behaviors like not opening their mail like I was sitting at the table with a fistful of lard in my hand and a lard-smeared oxygen mask over my face waiting for EMS to cut me out of my bedroom.

That I could deal with. I became frustrated however because he wasn't hearing me and kept at it with gems like 'well when you go overseas, you'll lose weight,' and 'to me, you're pretty and you look fine' but the kicker was when he told me that he just wanted me to be happy and that he and mom had been praying earnestly and fervently on this point. OMFG. You want me to be happy?! What the fuck do you think I'm working on over here? This is fucking happiness factory. I'm just about over your bullshit, just about over work bullshit, just about over things not matching up with some rom-com ending I had in my head bullshit (and gaining awareness and appreciation every day for all the things that come with that 'happy ending' that I don't have to deal with), just enjoying the freedom of late 30's and the clarity it brings as less and less becomes possible and the life you always had becomes the one you think you'd chose.

But since you're petitioning God on my behalf, you know what would make me happy? You not fucking sending me a text message when you think you are dying and then arguing with me for 2 hours when I ask that someone let us know when you're concerned enough to send just-in-case last words via SMS. I mean really. Ask Him to help you understand why that was very not okay. Ask Him to make you a better listener and to not offer me a ziploc bag full of face-sized cookies after suggesting I join Weight Watchers. Can you even hear yourself?

And in all this, driving away from the house on the brink of tears after telling you that you were completely missing the point, wishing it wasn't so late where Soul Twin is so she could talk me down, wishing it weren't so early on the West coast so my other friend could talk me down (they are specialists at talking me down), I'm happy Dad because I knew this story would end up here. This makes me happy. I don't understand what happiness is supposed to be or look like but I do know that this awful evening is great blog fodder so all's well that ends well. I guess God hears you.