In Which I Fall Off the Wagon

I fell off the wagon.

I fell off the wagon and was run over by the wagon.

I fell off the wagon and was run over by a wagon train of wagons.

It's not that I'm sitting around eating sticks of butter and watching my stories all day long.

But somehow I have gained back so much of the weight I worked so hard to lose.

I can explain. You see, it all started with-

........

There is no good reason. The reasons are all the reasons for all the other times I fell off the wagon. And they are not good reasons. Sure, I'm tired and many days I don't feel good. Yes, my job is stress-inducingly binge-ariffic. Sure, my satanspawncats entice enslave me into hours of sedentary snuggles. Yes, there is packing and sorting and grading and homework to do.

None of that is going to change any time soon.

So, I can either continue with things as they are and start wearing sweat pants and tent dresses everywhere, or I can suck it up and do what I know I need to do.

As with anything in life, if it's truly important to you, you'll do what it takes to make it happen.

(Apparently, the last several months I have found Netflix and Girl Scout cookies truly, truly, truly important).

So, it's back to being thoughtful about my food choices. For the most part, I haven't been eating too terribly (except those wickedly addictive Do-Si-Do cookies), but I haven't been planning ahead for nutritionally balanced meals and practicing portion control.

Back to monitoring my water intake.

And then there's my old Nemesis, Exercise. Logically, I know I will feel better, physically and emotionally. Logically, I know this is when I see the weight fall off. It's not that I don't think about it. I think about it everyday. I think, I should exercise. It will make me feel better and my clothes will fit. Because it's getting scary, folks- like Hulk-out scary.....if the Hulk was a pasty white, flabby woman. But there's this nasty little Scarlet O'Hara voice telling me I should think about it tomorrow. And tomorrow comes and it says the same thing. Before I know it, 4 months of tomorrows have passed and here we are. I think of all the progress I could have made in that time. But I refuse to beat myself up over it. Wallowing and self-pity and recriminations are pointless, annoying, and destructive. It's okay if I mess up. I know I'll mess up again. But as long as I can learn from my mistakes, it's progress. And progress is good.

So shut it, Scarlet O'Hara.

Today is the day.