Maggie is popping up again, poking at us even though she cannot walk more than a few steps. She posted at Instagram and X about us today and she is calling me fat whenever I see her.

The thing is that I am fatter and she has got me, again. It’s actually totally hilarious. I told an old friend last night and we howled. I got fat and my crazy neighbor calls me fat. It’s almost Chekhovian. Or is it?

So, I am struggling with this new shape but I’m not ready to diet or go on Ozempic. My friend said, well, it’s discipline. And I said, I don’t have any right now. Maybe later. I’m thinking it though.

I don’t think you should go on unnecessary medications and I believe in stopping them when you feel better, hence I am leaving my SSRI behind because I’m not spiraling into anxiety, like I was when I started taking it, when I was feeling like Maggie lived in my house with me, in the same room.

Of course, that’s not what I thought. I didn’t think, this situation is too powerful in your life. I felt exhausted and thought about Maggie—what she was up to, what she had said, what I had to do to manage her meddling. Or I congratulated myself on not thinking about her (which always felt phony when I thought it but well, you try not thinking about it), containing her in cranky chats with Calvin, or making good jokes about it. So I took an SSRI to push her out of my reality, and now she is gone and I’m saying goodbye to the SSRI. I’m a little worried I will crack up again, or my insomnia will come roaring back, but I think it’s time to move on.

All this to say that Maggie is not in my house nearly as often. But she is coming out of her own house more often, and when she is out and she sees me, she calls me fat. And even though Maggie herself has a much bigger gut than I do, lacks several teeth, and requires a motorized scooter to get around, it still hurts my feelings! A little.

Or maybe I should start my own size acceptance with a chat with Maggie?

How would that ever go? I wish I had the guts to do that, just for the memory. That’s a bucket list situation: discuss the latest in your life of self-loathing with a spiteful crazy person. How could I pass up that situation? It might be really helpful actually.

Okay, the cats are swirling around me dropping their hungry hints, and I must run.