I'm sure I've used this title before.
It's a recurring hashtag in my life.
But this time it carries a lot more weight.
Things have taken on mammoth proportions.
It's the reason you haven't heard from me for such a long time.
I've been busy.
Eating.
Like never before.
But now something has to change.
Or I'll be making a public appearance of a very different kind.
On midnight television.
One of those chilling exposes on fat people.
Too obese to leave the house.
So they knock down the walls.
Airlifting them out of their apartment.
Taking them to hospital.
In one of those giant slings they use to transport killer whales to Sea World.
Not the kind of sling I'd be generally used to.
And the killer whales aren't fused to a sofa.
Covered in pizza boxes.
The remote controls lost in the folds of fat.
Who's bringing me the food I hear you ask?
The guys from Doughboy.
It's conveniently located right downstairs.
They don't even need to get out their scooters.
They've got keys to my apartment.
But no more.
Things are going to change.
Or return to how they were.
I was thin once.
So now I'm looking to the past for inspiration.
As my even further past comes back to haunt me.
I've recently received notice of a school reunion.
25 years.
Terrifying I know.
If you think it's surprising to read, imagine how surprising it is to me to experience.
25 years out of school and I've only just worked out what I want to do when I grow up.
25 years out of private school.
One of those all male bastions of tradition guaranteed to generate feelings of exclusion in the gay kids.
As well as in the fat kids.
I was the gay fat kid in one of these institutions.
Sydney Grammar no less.
From whence all students are catapulted to success within about 3 minutes of completing school.
It took me two decades.
So I'm determined to face my tormentors.
No longer fat.
Still definitely gay.
And with at least a facade of success.
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