State of the Union--Part 1...my ass (and other bits)
I have gained weight. This is a fact. I lack motivation. This is (sadly) also a fact. I have neither the cash nor the inclination to buy new pants. (I'm just chock full of facts this night.)
This leads me to part one of my multi-part address.
Fat.
Specifically my fat.
I'm unhappy with the weight gain, especially in the face of a significant loss and all that back-sliding crap that I want to whine about and can't. I've been over-tired and eating to stay awake. I work at a place with nearly unlimited FREE fat-ful, carb-ful food. And I have partaken. I could blame my family history, my husband, society, steroids or Ordinary's mom...but I won't. I WANT to. But I don't. This is all me. I got lazy. I got complacent. I got in the habbit of snacking every time I fed a kid. (So pretty much constantly...)
I'm not sure where one acquires motivation. I'd rather skip abject misery or hearing myself called an unattractive sea cow. (Yes, sea cow, as in manitee, large, round, kinda dumb-looking...one of nature's wonders.) However, I'm not sure how to diet without depression. I've kinda relied on vast heapings of self-loathing in the past.
Now, thanks to the wonders of ration thought, regular employment and modern pharmecutical science...I am filled with, at worst, moderate heapings of enui. ok, mostly I'm filled with an unending supply of macaroni and cheese. And therein lies the problem. I now feel worthy of love without needing unattainable perfection. I'm not basing my self-worth on my fuckability quotient. Which is a good thing. But since I'm not starving myself as punishment or dieting to earn respect and attention...I'm not...well starving or dieting.
And my pants are too tight.
I'd also like to toss out to the universe...Why do I always feel like crap when I start dieting? Not hungry. That's kinda to be expected. But dizzy and headachy, even a bit nauseaus. No one can possibly be made ill by ingesting too few Otis Spunkmeyer muffins. and yet...
This leads me to part one of my multi-part address.
Fat.
Specifically my fat.
I'm unhappy with the weight gain, especially in the face of a significant loss and all that back-sliding crap that I want to whine about and can't. I've been over-tired and eating to stay awake. I work at a place with nearly unlimited FREE fat-ful, carb-ful food. And I have partaken. I could blame my family history, my husband, society, steroids or Ordinary's mom...but I won't. I WANT to. But I don't. This is all me. I got lazy. I got complacent. I got in the habbit of snacking every time I fed a kid. (So pretty much constantly...)
I'm not sure where one acquires motivation. I'd rather skip abject misery or hearing myself called an unattractive sea cow. (Yes, sea cow, as in manitee, large, round, kinda dumb-looking...one of nature's wonders.) However, I'm not sure how to diet without depression. I've kinda relied on vast heapings of self-loathing in the past.
Now, thanks to the wonders of ration thought, regular employment and modern pharmecutical science...I am filled with, at worst, moderate heapings of enui. ok, mostly I'm filled with an unending supply of macaroni and cheese. And therein lies the problem. I now feel worthy of love without needing unattainable perfection. I'm not basing my self-worth on my fuckability quotient. Which is a good thing. But since I'm not starving myself as punishment or dieting to earn respect and attention...I'm not...well starving or dieting.
And my pants are too tight.
I'd also like to toss out to the universe...Why do I always feel like crap when I start dieting? Not hungry. That's kinda to be expected. But dizzy and headachy, even a bit nauseaus. No one can possibly be made ill by ingesting too few Otis Spunkmeyer muffins. and yet...