Alright, alright... Time to fess up.

I haven't been posting because I've been a little.... down. A little. Ok, a lot. I think the word I'm looking for here is "depressed". Sucks, eh? Feel a little bad for me? Well, before you start sending the gifts of coffee and chocolate, let me say that I'm beginning to crawl my way out of the pit of despair, inch by inch. It hasn't been easy, but I'm beginning to see a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel that is not Robin McGraw's veneers.

What's been doing it for me? My Theramistress has been great, but we've had to scale our appointments back a little. The every week thing gets expensive when Geekster's yearly insurance allowance for emotionally disturbed family members runs out. She lent me a book three weeks ago so I could look it over. I did look it over. In the waiting room today right before our appointment. Then, when she asked me if I had found the book helpful, I went into great detail about the five minutes of glancing I had done, and commented on how 'simple' and 'straightforward' the concept was. I think she bought it, and I am going to Hell.

I've been exercising. Not crazy, buy expensive equipment and scream in pain the following day exercise, but something more gentle: Pilates. It's a wonderful thing. The first few times I did pilates I walked away with a guilty grin on my face. Why? Because I thought I had beat the system; the system of people who exercise. Exercise is supposed to hurt and be difficult. Pilates was neither of those things and was even kind of fun, what with the weighted balls and stuff. Apparently I had been given the wrong DVD for Christmas. I wasn't going to get anything out of it, but I would make me feel better because I could tell people I was exercising every two days and they could think I was really dedicated, if not still quite fat despite it all.

Then, something strange happened. I started to get a little bit... buff. Underneath my awesome liquid jelly rolls I have acquired some abs. Real abdominal muscles that I can flex and use to lift myself off the bed and what have you. And my arms? Well, jiggle they might, but beneath the surface lie beautiful pythons of envious proportions. I can lift a 48 pound Gutsy with a sliver in his foot and carry him upstairs without breaking a sweat. I can pick up a teething Spawnling (four molars in a two week period means a lot of picking up) and make dinner or carry a basket of laundry or walk up the three flights of stairs to playgroup while also balancing a coffee and a purse.

When you're my size, you no longer have "skinny jeans". Skinny jeans are for people who are 15 pounds overweight. Skinny jeans hang in the closet and taunt the nearly-skinny every morning, bringing them to near tears as they contemplate another dreadful week eating cabbage soup.

No, fat people like me don't have skinny jeans. We have less-fat jeans. The ones that used to fit until we got fatter. I have a pair of those, and I was going to throw them out. Then, pilates happened. And yesterday, I squeezed into those less-fat jeans. They zip up now, and that is a big improvement. All because I play on the floor with some blue balls (not Geekster's).

Pilates shouldn't be considered exercise. Nay, it should be a religion. The religion of Pilates. It makes much more sense than Scientology, and that's a religion. It could work, you know.

I've been cleaning my house, like, every day. Not just the dishes, but everything. Laundry? There's only ever one load to do, if that. We're completely caught up and it's folded, not in baskets, but in drawers. Yes, it is possible. We are the living proof.

The Maven is picking herself up off the floor. It hasn't been an easy task and has involved many things (thankfully none of them a forklift - go, less-fat jeans!). With a grandmother and two friends battling cancer (one who is sadly in the last few weeks of his life), two AA friends who may have fallen off the wagon (I hope not, but they're nowhere to be found), and an estranged family member who's decided he doesn't have time for The Maven in his life (seriously! The Maven!), it's been anything but fun around here. But the pity party train has come to its final stop. This less-fat, pilates-loving, pretend-self-help-book-reading, berserker-cleaning Maven is finding her groove again.

And my gremlins? They're enjoying the fact that I yell less and smile more. That will probably mean that their spouses' insurance will not need to pay for quite as many therapy sessions. This is good all around.

Now I must go to bed. I have playgroup in the morning with Spawnling (and I'm actually looking forward to going and, you know, spending time with people in public places). People are still getting sick, are still dying, are still dropping off my radar, but I'm doing better.

However, still feel free to send coffee and/or chocolate.

I'll keep in touch more often. Promise. I hope this post will quell the 'where's your damn blog?' questions. It hurts to be popular.