My body is a wonderland


And by wonderland I mean it's a huge-ass (pun intended) property that requires expensive maintenance to continue to be productive and profitable, so yes, my body is a wonderland. To be fair, the maintenance is more for my mental health than my physical health, but it helps me accept my middle-aged body for what it has become. Although ironically, it's my antidepressants and the depression it's trying to depress and the irrepressible pressing need to stress-eat that brought about these undepressable surfaces that tend to compress against most of my clothings and undergarments. Okay enough. I need to press on.

The pandemic lockdown has not helped either but I have to admit, these aren't all pandemic weight gain. I started putting on the pounds at least two years before I had to set up my workstation a few steps from the refrigerator, around the same time I started seeing my therapist (did my therapist cause the weight gain?). I was doing yoga twice a week for several years before the pandemic but my yoga mat has not seen any action since 2020 so yes, my knees have also started complaining about the extra pounds they have to carry. 

Now since this is supposed to be a gratitude post for my body, I'd like to point out that at least I still have my porcelain skin, thanks to a skin care regimen brought about by Ry's constant reminder in my early 20s to "moisturize, moisturize, moisturize." I do have some lines (who doesn't?) but at least it's not wabi sabi level. My tongue can still pop a bubblegum and as for the candy lips, my MAC Powder Kiss lipstick actually tastes sweet. I haven't broken any big plans lately to swim in a deep sea of blankets (to crawl under the comforter and nap, yes) but hey, I know I still look good. And I don't need John Mayer (or any man for that matter) to tell me that. 

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