Adding a third, meta level of triangulation, since I can’t seem to stop myself

My theory this week:  As an emotional eater, my fat actually captures all my sad/angry feels, encapulates them, and deposits them on my ass, rendered inert in their little fatty bubble.  This is why food is comforting — got lots of rage and sadness?  We need fat molecules STAT to neutralize all these shitty feelings.

Thus, when I diet and fat molecules are burned, they release my long-stored sangry feels. This is how I tell you I am a crabby motherfucker for no good reason these days.  It feels neo-biblical; “And Lo, I was sitting at a stop light, burned the wrong calories, and suddenly my head became a mushroom cloud of unexplainable rage.”


I’m having an asshole time communicating with my family.  I decided I’d keep on talking to them, but that I wasn’t going to solicit approval, and I was not going to engage in triangulation.  Funnily enough, this leaves me very little to talk about these days.  Figured I’d be safe if I limited everything to my own thoughts and actions.  So, I told my mom I’m working on being more assertive.  She sounded furrowed-eyebrow disapproving of this plan — Anne, you are confrontational enough!  You are gentle and sweet and know what you want, and those are some of your best qualities!  I don’t like where this is headed.  

Not only lack of approval, but a fair dose of unsolicited disapproval.  It was quite irritating.  And by irritating, I mean, I’ve been reaming her out about it since that conversation happened a week ago.  Unfortunately, she’s never in attendance, as these vicious upbraidings usually occur between the hours of 2 and 4 in the morning, and are directed into my pillow.

So… you know.  I’ve clearly mastered the art of assertiveness.

Anyway, Middle called later in the week.  Living by the same rules set out above, I told my sister the same thing I told my mom about learning how to be assertive.  I foolishly added, “I told Mom, but she wasn’t real happy.”

“I know,” Middle said.  “I heard all about it.”  It was a bit of a sucker punch to hear my mom’s been talking shit about me behind my back.  But before I could do more than laugh in surprise, Middle cut me off.  “I hate how you say you’re going to stop triangulating, but here you are again.”

Yeah, so here I am again.  Try to do different, just keep doing the same.