And I need those fucking three credits to graduate.
I've given the professor (a.k.a. me) every "dog ate my homework" excuse ever invented: But my thighs are too big today. But I weigh too much today, so now my day is ruined and I can't have ice cream. But I hate this gross fat roll right here today. And Professor Me is like: "FAIL!"
Repeat every day for a quarter of a century.
But I'm committed to taking this class until I pass it. If not for me, then for my daughter, in whom I'm trying to instill a healthy body image. I know she's watching me and internalizing what I say and do. I know she's hearing me say one thing and--no matter how much I try to hide it--seeing me do another. Like telling her she's perfect the way she is, and then slipping up by weighing myself maniacally and whining about my own "hideous" body.
Today I was looking in the mirror and doing my usual annoyed-with-my-body-for-everything-thing. And suddenly I sort of said to myself, Wait. What if I just stop caring so much about this? What if I just sort of let it ride off into the sunset, along with all the other fucks I've watched ride away every year since I turned 30.
Suddenly I heard "pomp and circumstance" playing in the back of my head and I pictured myself in a cap and gown. And I imagined my daughter never remembering that I ever felt anything about myself besides just fucking good.
Yeah, I'm gonna pass this course pretty soon. I can feel it.