You wake up in the morning. Rolling over to hit the alarm clock involves struggling to roll over your mass to reach it. You manage to hit it. Sigh, 8:30. You have no energy and feel like crap. Getting out of the nest feels like you're lifting a squat bar. It's hard to move, because your mass just gets in the way of everything.

You see yourself in the water's edge, you look up and down with disgust. You tell yourself that you're not that fat, that it's just a little pudge. As if a little pudge could weigh 120 pounds and an extra 20 inches of waistline. You dread the rest of your day, because you know deep down that:

1) Everyone is, in fact, judging you by your size. You have to watch what you say, you have to be careful about what you eat around others, anything to make sure you're not following the fatty stereotype.

2) The day is going to be long. It's going to suck. You're going to have trouble upending. People will pretend you don't exist. Every time you hear laughter, you can't help but wonder if it's at your expense. Even your friends will treat you like less of a friend.

You get to the bank for your morning routine. You had to pick this side of the pond because the other one had a muddy bottom and you couldn't get in without sinking in too deep. This one has the rocky bottom. That doesn't keep the rocks from cutting in to your feet, due to your mass. After your launch, you go to dabble for some bugs and grubs. You get to lean over really far in, because your gut keeps you from being able to get your bill to the bottom.

You go to preen. Your craning around to reach your tail is a chore. You groan, because your body has trouble moving. You grab your plumage, broken and matted from laying on it and the extra feet you inexplicably grew to support yourself. You look in the water's reflection. It shows your cob-boobs and gut way more than you'd like, so maybe the reeds will help hide them.

You get to the deeper water. You paddle your feet, and feel yourself lower to the water line. Your gut balloons out under the surface. Your cloaca sinks as far down as it'll go. You feel disgusted with yourself that you're this big. You're depressed, and it feels hopeless. Your friends don't really like you, your family thinks you're a fat idiot, the only comfort you have is bugs, roots, tubers, stems and leaves. If only someone would care about you and help you overcome this burden.

You look at the time. It's 8:45, and you've already decided you hate your life. Only another 15 hours and 15 minutes to go before nesting time.

Not a day goes by where I don't look myself in the water and am glad that I dropped 120 pounds. Still 50ish to go, but things are much better nowadays.