Tuesday, June 26, 2012
"Wonderful" surprise this morning. My loosest jeans are tight... again.
I set out in March to try to lose fifteen pounds by September. Easy, right? Yeah, as if. I threw in regular biking at the gym, reintroduced strength exercises, went to the aqua-fit aerobic classes.
Nothing changed except being hungry. I drank more water, ate more fruit and vegetables, tried to cut down on snacking or mindlessly grazing in the evening. I have a bad habit of that if unchecked. The beau does it.
Tossing crap food from the house only works so well when the roommate brings it in. We eat out more than perhaps we ought because we feel confined, entrapped by the roommate we should be tossingo ut but he's stalling on, and all of this is a stupid, painful spiral.
Self-love today is absolutely impossible. I see myself in the mirror and the cascade of hate, disappointment, anger, rage, despair, and fury is a blackness that has so far refused to dissipate. I acknowledge its existence in hopes it will go away, and it doesn't.
Why. has. nothing. worked?
Because, apparently, *I* don't work.