My 135-lb-Life

There is a TV show on these days that offers a fascinating look into the inherently weak nature of Man. It is called "My 600-lb-Life." It's one of those reality shows where we get to watch others as they go about their daily lives like everything is just normal, except for the cameramen and the bright lights and lots of trucks with gear and probably a catering crew and some make-up people. Anyway, this particular show will scare the bejeesus out of you because of the "There but for the grace of God go I" principle.

These are people who make the run-of-the-mill morbidly obese you see at the mall food courts seem underweight. They are truly freaks, they are hideous, they have taken the body they arrived in at birth and totally destroyed it by stuffing huge quantities of food into it for a lifetime. Then suddenly they hit 600 pounds and freak out, Oh my God I am fat!!!!!!!! How come they did not notice that at 375 pounds? Or 400? Or 450? Or 500? Or 536? How about 569?

Anyway, I could be those people. Today I definitely used food as a drug, and I notice I have been doing a lot of that lately. Okay, so my number on the scale is smaller. A lot smaller. A TON smaller. But if I keep doing it I could balloon up in a flash.

What is wrong with us? Why do we all need drugs and smokes and liquor and pills and cream pies and whatever? How come we don't like life just plain? Why aren't the flowers and the sky and the bunnies and the rest of the critters and the oceans and the mountains enough? It's a puzzle and I'm open to answers.