Still the New Year. Still fixed on chief resolution to stop falling asleep during classical music concerts, long-awaited movies and appointments at the hair-colorist. (Fine to fall asleep during other people’s hair-colorist sessions. Why stay awake to look at so many other somnolent zombies in plastic ponchos and goo-smeared heads?)

Note to myself, hereinafter referred to as “self”:

Still the New Year. Still fixed on chief resolution to stop falling asleep during classical music concerts, long-awaited movies and appointments at the hair-colorist. (Fine to fall asleep during other people’s hair-colorist sessions. Why stay awake to look at so many other somnolent zombies in plastic ponchos and goo-smeared heads?)


Look for pen to make Searching Personal Inventory, envisioning three-part strategy involving stepped-up work on (a) diet, (b) sleep, (c) exercise.


Decide to begin with diet.


Write word “diet” at top of piece of paper. “D-I-E-T.”


Underline it.


Ponder similarity to word “die.” Meditate on self’s eventual demise and what kind of hideous get-up family will buy to lay self out in. Pray no pink ruffles.


Meditate on word “dye,” as in image at top. Mentally fashion catchy headline: “Salon Scenery: Large Bibbed Mammals Meet the Exxon Valdez.” Then make second dumb joke to self: “Dyeing is Easy, Dieting’s Hard.”


Cross out word “diet” and write instead “reduce,” what self’s mother called it in diaries from the 1940s. Ponder the fact that old magazine ads had doctors recommending use of tobacco to women as weight-management strategy.


Finally begin said Searching Personal Inventory, revealing undeniable fact that self is way chunkier than at any time since early college years when dorm food and giant ladles of lethal pre-game whiskey punch rolled self in so many layers of padding that self resembled the very pigs-in-a-blanket that self was devouring at these merry ingestion sessions.


Wander into memories of those days. Recall feeling sense of great warmth and well-being at one such frat-house event held 12 hours after morning’s whiskey punch and afternoon’s many beers. Bass notes to Stones tunes thunder in background as self looks down for source of warmth, discovers entire foot resting in bowl of chili.


Cringe at behavior of earlier self.


Put pen down to get tall appetite-suppressing mug of coffee. Figure if whiskey punch is out as enlivening beverage, might’s well hit the caffeine.


On way back to pad of paper and SPI, recall January of ’09 when self spent one full week drinking heavy cream straight from the carton – make that cartons with an “s” since there were three left behind in fridge by self’s gourmet-cook daughter after the holiday cook-a-thon she had put on for benefit of whole gene pool.


Self sure loves that heavy cream! Where can self find the closest supply of same RIGHT NOW? More time-traveling to self’s job as summer camp kitchen aide where self would open cool super-tall cans of milk to spoon cream from top directly into mouth. Tingles! Nirvana! Remorse!


Regard mug of coffee flavored with artificial sugar, two teaspoons instant powdered non-fat milk. Swig some. Not so bad.


Pick up pen again.


Decide to tackle exercise, supplemental sleep another time. Will concentrate for today on diet as strategy for remaining alert.


Write two words on page: “Weight” and “Watchers.” Back at it tomorrow, joining for 13th time since 1975, if they will have self. Consider packing symbolic last meal: flask of whisky AND heavy cream, to drink on way over.       


Write Terry at terrymarotta@verizon.net. Read more and leave comments on her blog, which pops up when you search her name with the phrase “Exit Only.”