Last year, after I began the arduous task of digging myself out of the hole that was my mindset after the emotional upheaval of 2005 through the beginning of 2007, I knew that I was going to have to make some serious adjustments to my entire life.

Behaviors would need to alter. Priorities would need to shift. Heads would need to be shrunk.

Divorce does not, as one might think, or at least one who never experienced divorce first-hand, provide you a clean slate. It's incredibly messy, on so many levels, and there aren't enough erasers in the world to undo all that you gone and done. You're broke, tired and, most likely, fat.

Well, I was fat.

In terms of what my priorities were in fixing any of these situations, well, I didn't have many. For about a solid 12 months I just kept throwing these three aspects of my life up in the air and hoped that one would stick up on the ceiling just long enough for me to get a handle on the other two. Kind of like that slimy, neon goo you used to be able to get out of vending machines.

I suppose I thought that three was a crowd when it came to dealing with The Problem Trifecta, or as I like to call them "The Big Three." But, not surprisingly, no matter how hard or fast or often I threw Broke, Tired and Fat up in the air, inevitably they'd all end up a pile of crazy together on my living room floor.

I will stop with the bad analogy now.

Honest to God, I for a long time thought if I just played my cards right, waited certain situations out, tended to the money tree Shelane sent me the first month I was on my own, prayed, bargained, borrowed, that I'd eventually come out on top and be just fine. These are all tactics that leave fate to its own devices and situations such as divorce call for action. Contrary to what some may have thought of me in the past, I am not a woman of action.

I am a woman of sit-on-her-ass-and-watch-Jack-McCoy-fight-for-justice.

But this sit-and-watch-the-world-go-by plan turned out to be not much of a plan at all. And worse still was that finding a remedy to any of these problems seemed unattractive to say the least. I'd been fat for the majority of my life and gaining 20 pounds was small potatoes when you compare it to the gargantuan efforts it took for me to get out of bed, what with all of the guilt I was carrying on my back. I could handle fat.

I've pretty much always been tired. My mom was tired all of the time. I suspect her mother before her. I'm the person who fell asleep first at slumber parties, who would always rather nap than just about anything else. Scott has forever teased me about the fact that if 30 minutes go by and I'm not at work, and he hasn't heard from me, chances are good that I'm sleeping.

And broke? Well, I've pretty much always been broke. The only differences throughout my life have been the varying degrees to which I've been broke. There is "normal" broke, which means I pay all of my bills but can't do much of anything else, and there is "panic" broke, which leaves me huddled into a corner, crying hysterically, worrying that I will lose everything I own. Mostly the dog.

Posted by Erin at 10:05 PM | filed under: Odds and ends