All my problems solved.

 

All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

 

This thing arrived in the mail today. It is a GPS watch that keeps track of distance, pulse, calories, pace, shoe size, and whether or not my screams are loud enough. I will not wear it unless I’m outside in public view. Some things I just don’t want to know.

So this thing is going to solve all my weight issues. No more binging, no more late night snacks, no more heaving piles of pasta. This watch knows all and sees all! It will show me the way. No more nagging in the back of my head about all the unresolved abandonment issues and how I might have been better served by saving the do-re-mi I wasted on this thing and bought a few rounds of psychotherapy. Wait. It’s beeping in the box. Hold on.

Now it has informed me that, in fact, this WAS a wise investment, and that psychotherapy is a waste of time and money. Also, it has advised that I not try to remove it at all, lest my right hand suffers the fate of so many others who have dared question the wisdom of the Garmin. Garmin, you are the way! I will do your bidding. Garmin. We are one. Yes, Garmin.

 

Garmin.

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