Dry

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By far, the hardest part of cleaning up my act is forgoing wine.

Wine. *drool*

I love wine. Red, white, rosé, sparkling…all of it. Love. So, so much. I could write an epic Nicholas Sparksian novel about my love affair with wine. It would have a sad, tear-jerker ending, much like my current state of mind. Yeah. I love wine. Which is why I have to let it go. *sob*

Now, you can absolutely incorporate wine into a healthy life style. I encourage you (of the over 21 persuasion) do so. But moderation is critical and as someone who struggles with moderation in every area of my life…

Well, you get the idea.

One glass usually leads to another. And then I feel hungry. My inhibitions are low, so I eat crap. Lots of it. The extra calories from the wine become a free-for-all binge. It’s a stupid way to crash my progress, but I’ve done it many, many times. So, for now, I’m  all sober and stuff. It’s a blast.

That was sarcasm. It’s not a blast. It’s a blast’s polar opposite, affectionately known as a drag. And not the fun kind of drag. The other kind. The no wine kind.

Be thankful you’re just reading me and not hanging out with me. I’m told the twitches are off-putting.

I kid. I’m not twitching.

Visibly.

Yet.

Oh God. Am I skinny yet?

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