Today I am grateful to stop the madness! Chocolate, cookies, candy, high-fat, low nutrition schneckies have consumed my life for the last month. . .and I’ve consumed them like I was a starving refugee who hadn’t had a decent meal in years. It’s crazy! I’m crazy! I know it, so that’s the first step, right?
Yesterday I went off sugar. Don’t worry, I haven’t totally lost my mind and I’m sure I will have something wonderful again, but for the next few days I need to go cold turkey. I swear I had the shakes at one point and that’s probably going to cost me a point at WW, too! Please, please, please try to refrain from telling me I’m wonderful as I am. I know that. But I feel so much better with even a little less poundage and I’d like to continue to be able to tie my shoes well into my senior years. Which are here. It’s a small goal, but I’m into small goals. Baby steps, baby!
Also please refrain from giving me dieting tips. I know it all. Literally. Knowing and doing are two different things. I’m not doing a “cleanse”. I’ll make veggie soup and that’ll do the trick. I’m not drinking shakes because I already did that and lost and gained back plus. I’m not doing any of the high protein, miracle fixes either. I’m sticking with WW. Maybe I’ll even follow the program instead of just going to the meetings. Now there’s a concept.
Himself got me a stocking full of mini Kit-Kats and one Big Fat Kit-Kat, which is a funny term for a candy bar. They should call it a “You will get big and fat(er) if you eat this, dummy!” I glare at him. . .lovingly, of course. . .and this is the conversation.
Me: Why would you get me all of this candy. . .my favorite candy?
Himself: Because I know you like it. (I sigh!)
Me: But you know I’m struggling so hard with my weight. I can’t be eating these on top of all the other junk I’ve eaten!
Himself: Just have one a day.
Me: Do you KNOW me?
Himself: What? You’ve done that in the past.
Me: Yes, and I’ll probably get there again, but right now I’m an out of control lunatic.
Himself: You’ll get back on track.
Me: Eventually, sure. But today this is like giving an alcoholic a job sniffing scotch!
I made him put the Kit-Kats in a zip lock bag and hide them. I have no idea where they are, but I could set the GPS on my phone to track them down. I have a few coordinates to work from. I bet I could get the longitude and latitude of those suckers within ten minutes. Maybe five. Or less.
Food doesn’t talk to Himself. But it screams at me! He lost four pounds getting back on track with his diabetes. He had lost ten pounds before that. But no worries, it’s not lost. I found it. Probably all of it, though I’m too chicken to go near the scale. Yet.
Hm, chicken. Chicken would be good. See, that’s where my madness enters in. We’re watching an old Blue Bloods episode last night. The Regan’s are all at dinner. When the show is over and I ask him what they had for dinner he doesn’t have a clue. But I do. Ham, salad, bread, red wine, mashed potatoes. They didn’t get to dessert, yet, so I don’t know about that. When I rewound to check how close I came, I was 100% dead-on accurate. He looked at me like I was the freak I am.
Himself: How do you remember all of that? I didn’t even notice the food.
Me: I know. How do you not SEE it?
Himself: I don’t know. I just don’t.
This from the man who simply can’t finish the last two bites of his favorite filet mignon, because he’s “too full”. Seriously? I want whatever gene or anomaly of nature it is that gives him that ability. I have never had it. Ever!
But I better find it soon, because I need to stop the madness! Now! Hmmm. . .filet mignon. . .ham. . .bread. . .mashed potatoes. . .Kit-Kats. . .32 degrees south. . .26 degrees west. . .
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