Day 2258 - My Lie

Currently Hope for the Hopeless By Brett Dennen see related

Dear Internet,

I have to tell you something. Something important. I told a lie yesterday, and I needed to let you know. It's no big deal, but I'm going to tell you about it now--just to clear my conscience. Here's what happened:

Yesterday afternoon, at about six o'clock, I went to Panda Express, ordered a two entree plate, and then I ordered a red Gatorade. That was the lie. The red Gatorade. I've been feeling bad about it.

The reason I lied was that I was feeling really bad about stuffing my arteries with Panda. I could have been eating salad or munching on carrot sticks or chewing down some wheatgrass, but instead I was eating fried bird flesh soaked in grease.

So I ordered a red Gatorade as a way of saying, "Hey there Panda employee, don't you worry. I'm going to work this off at the gym as soon as I leave."

And she smiled as a way of saying, "Enjoy the gym, future body-builder."

But I didn't go to the gym.

And this is where it gets bad, Internet. This is where my self-esteem--which has lately been hovering around normal--dropped to negative 1000. I dropped my Gatorade.

Now I know this doesn't sound like a big deal for most people, but it is for me, and you won't understand unless I tell you something about myself. So here it goes:

I. Hate. Bending. Over.

Bending over is the worst. It's like sticking your butt into the air and having the whole world stare into your soul. I don't care how skinny you are, you don't look good bending over. Maybe that's melodramatic, but it's true. And it's especially true when you are bending over while holding a box of Panda in one hand. And it's more especially true when some athletic jogging girl with her ipod strapped around her arm comes by and picks up your Gatorade before your fat fingers can reach it.

I was caught in my lie. I was clearly not going to the gym. I was only going to do one excercise after leaving Panda, and that was picking up my red Gatorade. One rep.

Feeling somewhat down, I said thank you to the jogging girl--who couldn't hear me over the sound of her speeding metabolism--and left. I went to the meeting I had upstairs and sat down like a bear with a tranquilizer dart in its neck, just eating chow-mein and orange chicken, while slowly running out of breath. The red Gatorade--its bottle now dented from the fall--was used to wash down my smörgåsbord, not for any of its valuable electrolytes.

I'm sorry, Internet. I just thought you should know.

I feel much better now.

love always,

-jim.