I feel insane & slightly unstable even typing this sentence, but last week I became convinced that my mental stability hinges on the current size & shape of my ass.

I’m two years into a 9-to-5 desk job and there is no question the toll it has taken on my physique. I’ve put on a little weight (more than I’d like to admit, but I also can’t blame it all on working at a desk because I haven’t been exercising regularly or even watching what I eat, sooo…). My weight has always fluctuated though. Hypothyroidism & lack of discipline, FTW! But I was not mentally prepared for my butt to flatten. I had no idea that sitting could rob me of the cakes I spent years building. Yes, building. I was not genetically blessed with any booty. Sorry, fam, great chests & flat behinds appear to be our aesthetic. I honestly didn’t think twice about my butt until Instagram & the Kardashians happened. I mean, I can’t look at my ass without trying. Out of sight, out of mind. Now, butt implants are on the rise & it feels as if, “you ain’t shit if you ain’t got da booty.” That’s how I imagine the portion of the internet that praises da booty speaks.

I know ass-chat is usually all jokes, but it’s become so engrained in my mind that a big, firm, perfectly shaped behind is desirable that I genuinely feel anxious & insecure about my flat fanny. If it’s been too long since my glutes last felt sore, I get irritable & a weird “itchy” anxious until I do a few sets of lunges or squats or whatever Pinterest tells me will give me the “before & after” ass of my dreams. I’ve actually done lunges while waiting for my car to get serviced because the thought of sitting and flattening my butt for another hour drove me insane. Here are unnecessary text receipts of the incident:

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I know somebody is going to say, “Uh, just do more squats.” Uh, yeah, I’m going to, thanks. While I was funemployed, I lived at my parents’ condo & the downstairs gym was a dream. So many machines, so little people. It was empty 90% of the time and the leg press machine was almost always set to my height & weight. No commute, no anxiety, no time constraints thanks to no job…It was so easy. Now, not so much. There’s a commute, there’s anxiety, & there are so many things that I want to do plus I’m really bad at time management. This isn’t to complain about how hard going to the gym is or how there aren’t enough hours in the day, or maybe it is, whatever. I’m a work-in-progress and I have growing pains and I like to write about them. One day though, I will be better & I will have a dope derriere. Or I’ll get over it.

I am aware this may be the dumbest, most trivial blog post ever, and there’s no real lesson or point here. I’m not prepared to dig that deep today. This is also not any sort of commentary on anyone else’s butt or what butts should be. This is strictly about me & my butt & my anxiety that I’m falling short in some way. I just wanted to write a silly post about how something so dumb could give me very real feelings because if I feel it, someone else probably feels it too. Errbody feel the ass anxiety, say yeah!

This is an amateur sketch of my butt to go with that terrible joke.