WTF am I thinking?

May I say, I am Not Thrilled with the way what/whoever is running my brain is going about it. Normally I wouldn't share these intimate maunderings with you, my five loyal readers, for fear of seeming self-indulgent and lame, but a) I thought someone else might read this and find it useful and b) it's my damn blog and as will be become clear, I need to stop listening to the imagined opinions of others. You well-adjusted confident types you know who you are should stop reading here and come back next post.
My perspective is all out of whack. Since mid-October I've passed all my assignments and exams, bought a house, dealt with the Spousal Unit working away all week, maintained Noddie's six-year-old world including birthday parties, dance concerts, end of school and Christmas at our place, packed up our whole place and unpacked it again in the new house, painted two bathrooms, a loo, a bedroom, a hallway and a living room, taught Noddie to ride her boogie board and tie her shoelaces and got her settled at tap dancing classes and school, started uni and a TAFE course, applied for two jobs and got an interview for one (it's on Wednesday, wish me luck!!), and cooked prawn and sweet corn chowder and a proper vegetable pie with a blind-baked bottom and a pastry lattice top. I ROCK, no?
But get this: foremost in my mind, blotting out all of the hard work and coolness of the last five months with its ludicrously inaccurately inflated proportions, is the fact that I've gained 5kg. Eleven pounds. That is pretty much all I have been thinking about in those 2 a.m. wake-and-fret fests. That one thing is the criteria by which I have been judging myself. That is MESSED UP and I'm NOT STANDING FOR IT. I have a Plan, my friends, and The Plan Is This: next time I teeter on the edge of that "weight gain => lazy/disorganised/unworthy/unhappy with my whole self" slough of despond, I'll grab the list of everything I've done, everything I've ever done in my whole life if necessary, and recite it, over and over and over again if I have to. These extra kgs are one thing. I'm doing something about them becuase I like to be able to wear all my clothes and feel comfortable in my skin. But they're not everything.
I have another question for whoever's in charge of the LBTEPA thought schema: what's with all these comparisons? Some of my good friends are really in the training and racing zone right now, pulling out 20km here and 6min/km there with insouciance and no hip soreness. I am so happy for them! I really am - but their hard work and achievements make me feel sick about what I'm not doing. I'm fearful of imagined failure and jealous of their support networks and their apparent confidence. My feet and heart are heavy with this needless burden. As of now, I PUT IT DOWN. We are women trying our best and cheering each other on. My friends are gifts!
Brain, could you make a note of the fact that NOT everything is about me? Today I was talking to a lady at my church, generally a dynamo whose conversation consists of tales of good works and improving activites. She remarked how this very hot sticky weather makes her feel like a complete dishrag - and I realised that my sloth this morning was not becuase I am a big sooky la-la lacking any discernable self-discipline. It was the weather! Must every explanation be a smothering glop of self-criticism? Hmmmmmmmmm?
I find myself thinking "I couldn't do that...." and "I'll never be able to .....". I've been too scared to go to the local tri-club training becuase I'm so slow and heavy, and I almost didn't enter the Run for The Kids because I didn't want my running friends to see me with five extra kgs! WTF IS THAT ABOUT? It's as though everything about me and anything I've ever done is meaningless in the face of being a bit lonely and a bit lardy. It's as though part of me thinks my value is associated with my weight!
THIS IS RUBBISH. My issues exist. Nothing to be done about that. But now I have recognised them for the insidious, joy-sucking harpies that they are. Let me don my tall silk issue-taming hat and my red frock coat, and pick up my whip and chair. I may have to live with them, but I'll make those little b#$!ards sit up and beg, by crikey I will. THEY WILL NOT WIN. I am LBTEPA and I DREAM BIG. I have entered the Run for The Kids and will finish, uninjured, if it takes me all day. I might even front up at the local tri club on Wednesday - I promise nothing.
Thanks for listening as I've faffed on about all this. I feel better already.
More anon, comrades!