I got on the scale yesterday morning. I don’t know why. I’ve been eating like my 5-old-son and drinking like my 58-year-old mother. The scale is not my friend.
253. Two-cock-sucking- hundred- fifty-fucking-three pounds. That is the heaviest I have ever been and I am not gestating a human life. Shit.
So yesterday, I was Captain Healthy. I logged onto Spark People, logged what I ate and more importantly, ate like what I put in my mouth mattered. Such a small thing, but essential if I want to eventually say goodbye to double-digit sizes. And today when I stepped on the scale, 249. Which is awesome, but sort of sets me up for disappointment tomorrow. Losing 4 pounds overnight is not something that happens regularly. It shouldn’t any way. And while I know it’s water weight, I know that 2 pounds a week is a reasonable goal, I know it’s going to take more than a year to get to where I need to be, still.
4 pounds, bitches. If only every morning would be as satisfying. The short-term goal is 10 pounds. No locked down time frame, but by July 4th would be grand. The next benchmark is 25 pounds, that ever-elusive 10% mark. If I can just keep at it. Because that, my friends, is my problem. I am a champion starter and a loser at follow-through. I really hate that about myself and would love to change the pattern.
How do you keep yourself motivated and on track?
My husband is trying to tame his personal dragon, Mountain Dew. I thought it was a weight loss thing, until he decided that cherry Koolaid would be his version of methadone. Now I don’t know why the hell he’s giving up Dew. But that’s not the point today.
Today we’re going to talk about how Koolaid flooded my laundry room. Not WITH Koolaid, thank goodness. But it’s totally their fault. Because my son has developed a taste for the red crap and spilled it all over my favorite tablecloth. That shit stains, y’all. So being the superhero that I am, I blotted the worst of it, gathered it up and put it in the utility sink with some oxygen bleach. Yay! I was making my starving son lunch, so I let the water run and finished his super nutritious lunch of chicken nuggets and canned fruit.
And left the water running.
Soak that in for a bit. (Yes, it is a pun. Deal.) The laundry room is tiled and so the roughly inch and a half of water standing there will probably not do much damage. It’s been mopped up with every towel I own. The water that bled into the hall is another matter. That is slowly seeping towards my living room, laughing at my attempts to suck it up with the carpet cleaner. The towels are in the dryer, waiting to be dry enough to soak up more water, the industrial fan is blowing on it and I can hear the mold growing.
I had to text my husband to find the above-mentioned fan. Luckily, he’s crazy busy at work and hasn’t thought to ask why I need it, but I can only count on his ignorance for so long. He’ll get home and we’ll be have a reckoning, of the “Luuuuuuccceeeeeee! You got some ‘splainin’ to do, ” variety. Sigh.
I really hate it when I fuck up.
Let’s blame Koolaid, okay? Better yet, NONE of this would have happened if my husband were still drinking Dew. So really, it’s all his fault. Yeah. I think I can sell that.