Side Fat

side fat

I’m drawing blank.

I’m not motivated or excited to do this.

I’m tired.

I should be doing other work. The work that pays the bills.

I’m thinking of other things.

I’m not focused.

I’m out of fresh ideas.

All the good ideas have been taken.

I sometimes have no faith in myself, my writing.

I’m sad.

I’m fat.

Just kidding about the last two.

Although I should be a little happier, it being a Friday.

And I am kind of fat.

More like skinny fat.

Which is kind of gross because you’re skinny, but then you’re fat.

More like hanging blubber rolls.

Carefully tucked and flattened rolls when you’re in clothes.

Then all hanging out when you’re just in your underpants.

Embarrassing at the pool or beach.

People be like: “I thought he was in better shape.”

You be like: I wish I didn’t have to suck in this way.

You also be like: I didn’t realize I have so much side fat.

Side fat.

Who invented side fat?

Probably those donuts and French fries.

And beer.

And carbs.

And gluten.

Should I go on a gluten-free diet?

Is it just a fad?

Is it this season’s Atkins’ diet?

I’m on a gluten free-for-all diet.

That’s what’s causing the side fat.

Side fat.

And no, I’m not sad.

No reason to be sad.

As Twain says, we are happiness and sadness machines, programmed to default to sadness. Some people live their whole life switched to sadness. Others know how to stay switched to happiness. Those people celebrate their side fat. They butter it up. Present it. “Here it is, world! My side fat! I love it. Will you love it, too? Feel it. It’s soft. Like a soft pretzel.”

Mmm…. A soft pretzel sounds good.

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