If I were a stool, I’d be pretty freakin’ wobbly right now. One of my stool legs — sobriety — is rock solid. Exercise is wobbly. Diet… is definitely the shortest of the three.
Food logging’s been way off, snacking’s been way up, and I’ve been using the ol’ “one leg of the stool” excuse — hey, I’m being good about booze, so I can let these things go.
But I’m a smart guy. I’m a smart guy that’s been down this road before. I’m not entirely sure why I’m smart enough to see this, and know that it’s not a path that works, and still find myself on it.
You need three stool legs for stability.
I’m not sure why I’m fixated on my life being a stool, but that’s where I’m at — I’ve tried sober without exercise and diet control. That’s failed. I’ve tried exercise without diet and sobriety. That’s failed. You’ll never guess what else I’ve tried — yes, diet, but without exercise and sobriety. And that didn’t work out either.
I’m not gonna go through all the two-out-of-three combinations. Just trust me when I say that I’ve tried every two-leg permutation there is. I am not a man. I’m a stool.
I need three legs.
I think all the stools I have in the house are four-legged, actually. But I am a three-legged stool.
Well, maybe the fourth leg is sleep. Or a good relationship. Maybe I’m a five-legged stool. Possibly, I’m a centaur with a prosthesis.
Maybe I’m an octopus that gnawed off a couple of tentacles because I was caught in a trap.
I think it’s time to stop before I Spanish Inquisition myself into oblivion. Three legs is a good stool. I need three legs. Maybe three legs are where my towel is.