Robyn Justo
I’ve been considering going somewhere. I’m not quite sure where yet, but maybe Italy or Portugal to check out my ancestral roots, or to a Blue Zone where people live to be one hundred years old without really trying.
The thing is, I want to scout for that last place where it’s warm and cozy and things are green and beautiful. As one friend said, she is looking for her forever home, another more palatable way of saying “final resting place” while she is still vertical.
The trip to Earth is a round trip ticket, even though we are remiss to believe it, with a return date that as much as we try to plan or predict it, we can’t. As I write this today, I’m watching an unprecedented storm batter Monterey Bay with hurricane force winds, the first time in California history. A few hours ago, a chair flew off our rooftop patio and landed right outside of my window and broke into pieces. I had almost been outside standing in that very spot and my head could have been a piñata and my round-trip ticket punched.
Speaking of round, I recently had a discussion with my primary care physician about weighing more than I wanted to. In his opinion, I shouldn’t worry because if I got pneumonia or pancreatic cancer, I would do better with a few more pounds (have something to live on.) Oh great, now that is stuck in my piñata head. I told him that I was experiencing numbness in my hands and feet, and he asked if it was affecting my sleep and if so, he could give me a prescription to help me. I asked about side effects and he said, “Well they ALL have side effects!”
Which brings me to my next subject. I believe that Oprah Winfrey sold her soul to the Devil for the new injectables, actually not new, just being used and abused for a different reason other than diabetes for which it was intended. She doesn’t even look like the same person, along with other formerly chubby celebs who have morphed in a minute. Ozempic, Mounjaro anyone? You’re fat? We have an app (shot) for that. They mimic the GLP-1 which is the stopgap “Am I really hungry?” function. And the CEO of Weight Watchers is saying they got it wrong all these years. You don’t need a diet and you don’t need to eat healthy. If you have overdone it at Jack-in-the-Box, all you really need is a jab-in-the-flab.
Let’s talk about these side effects. You could get a thyroid tumor or pancreatitis, or depression or worse. You could end up with Ozempic face, zombie-like hollow with sags and bags. And if you stop, you gain your weight back and then some. What is the difference between these drugs like Killa-Mounjaro and shooting up an opiate? You gotta stay hooked or you’ll blow back up. My prediction is that we’ll start seeing people drop like flies, skinny flies.
Stay with me here because I’m on a roll. My GLP-1 is clearly not functioning because I wrote roll and immediately thought of the out-of-this-world cinnamon roll only available at Lovers Point Beach Café in Pacific Grove (shout out.
There is a modern-age guru named Sadhguru who describes this thing, this skinsuit that we move around in as a “food body” because everything we eat or take in creates it as we go. A lot of us got even bigger ones during Covid. Hmmmm. If we were lucky enough to survive a pandemic, albeit a little or a lot bigger, there is another thing we can inject. Too much fallout for me. Not a pin cushion although I might resemble one at times.
Sure, it is best to travel light with a round-trip ticket in hand, but there are other ways to get there and for now being chubby like a Teletubby is fine with me because I can still fit my food body in an airplane seat when I go looking for my new home.
