Oh, my goodness, I go in cycles! It seems like I can get nothing done during the week other than work, barely keep up on dishes and the bathroom and maybe get a little lawn work done. Then the weekend comes and I’m ready to get my life under control. Today I have to finish my lesson — I’ve put that off waaaay too long — and I have at least 8 batches of laundry, including bedding from the downstairs cot.
My weight goes in cycles, too. [big surprise there!] Last month I ate so healthy for — like — three weeks in a row and then went camping and did well there, as well. I was down to 146.5! Yup! For some reason [I will never be able to understand in this earthly life] I ate like a baby pachyderm for the next two weeks and here I am again — just where I don’t want to be.
Am I just being ridiculous thinking I can ever do this again? Am I just kidding myself? My heck, how hard can it be? Am I just programmed to continually sabotage my efforts? Do I really believe deep down that I deserve to be fat and feel worthless and crappy? Am I ever going to be able to choose healthy over junk for a sustained period of time?
These are the hard questions, folks . . . for me.
Other people worry about fighting hunger in the world, conquering abuse, curing cancer and diabetes, and living a life of service. Me? I just want to lose 10 pounds and keep them off forever.
And yet, somehow, 10 pounds is akin to a straight jacket for me. It makes me crazy. It consumes my every thought. It is a compass for everything else. It controls how much I interact with others, how I feel about myself on a daily basis, controls my conversations and thought process. Pretty much everything.
I guess we all have our shallow. Mine is weight and food.
This morning I’m 150 on the dot.
Other people are having their lives overturned by the devastation of divorce or disease. Other people are having postnatal trauma. Other people have to deal with seizure-ing children. Other people don’t have jobs and insurance and are financially destroyed. Other people have a beautiful daughter who was in a semi vs. car accident and has been in ICU for 33 days.
Me? I have ten ugly pounds that destroy me every single day.
What’s up with this?
I have spend years thinking — if I can just get my weight under control I can do all those other more-important things.
Ouch. This is just a little too much truth for me this early in the morning.
[PS: This post was *surely* brought on by a 45-minute conversation with Tracy last night about her bedroom . . .]