Inspiration Station? Not So Much.

It would appear that I have lost my mojo. You see, I am not one of these miracle people who have this internal motivation. Someone who can just get out of bed throw back a cup of black coffee and a banana and actually look forward to a good hard workout. I suppose had I been born one of this alien race, I would not be in the predicament I am in today. I need the external inspiration. Desperately.
See, I am one of those profoundly normal people who must drag my sorry ass out of bed, have a Java Monster (don't worry - the lo-ball only has 100 calories for the whole can), plus my multivitamin spiked w/ green tea and egcg, and even 4oz of orange juice for the sugar rush. Then I have to rush my kids to school and hurry to the gym before my chemically induced high wears off. I plug away on stinking sweating machines, glaring across the room at the skinny new trainer with the impossibly high ass showing the correct way to use the machine. She makes it look so easy. Naturally this is not true. She is nice, but I secretly want to snap her like a twig.
Then I'm home and it's time to force feed myself some form of protein, usually a boiled egg or a cup of fat-free chocolate soy milk - my favorite. I try to get in a few loads of laundry and make the beds before I inevitably crash for a semi-comatose doze for a few minutes before the kids get off the bus. Then, of course it's homework, dinner, dishes, feed the dogs, more laundry, kids baths, my bath, fold the laundry, take a few mandatory minutes to read something completely unnecessary and self-indulgent before falling asleep -I hope- before 1:00 or 2:00am.
The thing is, a few months ago. All this seemed to be no problem. Before the end of the last school year, I seemed to have it all under control. I breezed through my daily workout, burning 500+ calories and even having enough energy to take a 3-mile walk a few times a week. And my house had never been cleaner. Now I can hardly make it up the stairs with my laundry basket and I am trying to figure out just how we can afford a cleaning lady.
The thing that pisses me off the most is that I have changed absolutely nothing. My trainer says that we all go through periodic slumps once in a while. It is natural, she says, and it will soon pass. What does she know, I think, she eats grass and tofu and weight 100lbs. She is what I imagine Satan looks like in my own personal hell. See, I think there will be a personalized hell for each of us and mine will have me too fat to move while I watch this skinny bitch supermodel stuff her face with endless cupcakes and pies and extra salty chips and never gain a pound. Worse, she will periodically, get up, step over to the scales, climb on and blithely say, "oh look, I've lost a few pounds." Yes, this will be hell. And if I am unlucky enough to end up there, this is what it will look like. Oh, and there will be bad poetry. I hate poetry.
So, what do I do? How do I find my inspiration again. I need Biggest Loser to come back on TV. I need for Kirsty Alley to lose the weight again. (although, conversely, it makes me feel worse whenever Oprah loses weight. go figure.) I need Richard Simmons to come bark in my ear every day that I can do it.
Maybe tomorrow I will wake up with a burning desire to go work out. Maybe I will wake up with enough energy to get through my day. And maybe; as my GenX hero, Wayne Campbell, often says; monkeys will fly out of my butt. Oh well. At least if that happens I will at least have lost some weight. I wonder how much a flying monkey weighs?