Since Thanksgiving-ish: 19 lbs down, and a lot to go. What? I would tell you how far I have to go if I knew. Because I am vain, it will depend on how I look. 50? 80? No idea. A lot.
This is the first time I’ve gone through a stressful period in my life without potato chips to medicate me, by the way. I know that’s funny, but it doesn’t make it less true. If I’d said it was the first time I’d gone through a stressful time without whiskey, you probably wouldn’t have found it quite as amusing, right?
It’s not really any different, but as I told someone the other day: for someone like me, eating moderately when under stress (hell, or when I’m happy) is sort of like telling an alcoholic to just drink moderately. Alcoholics can’t drink a little bit throughout the day and stay sober, and people who have issues with food have to eat. Every damn day. More than once. Every time we do, it’s a chance to fall off the wagon. Abstinence isn’t an option with food–not for long, anyway–and abstinence is easier than moderation for people with abuse issues. Ask someone who’s done Medifast–it’s easier not to eat at all than it is to make good choices.
Am I being perfect? No. I have the occasional cocktail, or meal of mashed potatoes. I’m having a pint of bitter as I write this to console me for being stood up. I’m trying to work through things in order to get better at dealing with eating for consolation before I either have surgery. Or in case I don’t have surgery.
Don’t?
Well, there’s that whole thing where I may not have a job for much longer. I can’t have surgery if I lose my insurance, yeah?
It sucks. The whole thing sucks. Work sucks in particular.
Anyway, soldering on like the Scorpio boss I am.
Actually, you know what? I’d have had the pint of bitter anyway. I had a light lunch to account for it. I ordered it before I knew the flakey dude wasn’t coming. The pint of bitter was planned ahead of time. Well, I was thinking it would be an IPA, but bitter sounded good at the last minute. I didn’t realize that it would also be my mood!
I can fucking deal with men. Men are easy, mostly. They see things in a way that is mostly very easy to understand. There’s that one who challenges me, but mostly? I like them. There’s a reason I keep them around. No, not that. Or not only that. Men are mostly simple. Most of my friends are men. Men rock.
Also, in the spirit of full disclosure? I’m kind of relieved.
Oh, and for the sake of perfect honesty I came home from the pub, had dinner and then popcorn. And pop-tarts Not exactly the healthiest choices ever. I win some, I lose some.
So cheers, y’all.