Several days ago I wrote a sort of manifesto for my one thousandth post, some blather about moving on, escaping from the prison of food, I'm more than my weight, blah, blah, blah. I've been doing pretty well not bringing up the subject one way or the other.
But I gotta tell you, it's hard to not focus on something that gets in your way every. damned. day.
And it's especially hard when, now that I'm much more active than I've been all winter, the number on the scale is creeping upward.
I would have expected the opposite. Wouldn't you?
I recently ordered a couple nice pairs of capris in a size smaller than I wore last summer. Last summer's capris are very baggy and I'm constantly fussing with them. The new ones came, I tried them on, they were a little snug. But I thought to myself that it wouldn't take long before I'd be able to wear them comfortably. At the rate I'm going, it's going to take, um, forever.
So I'm discouraged this morning, and sad, because I don't want to think about my weight all the damned time, but my weight is holding me back from doing things – normal things, little things, things most people take for granted. Things like getting out of bed, which was very difficult to do this morning.
Not a good way to start a rainy weekend. Sorry for the backsliding attitude, but it's my blog and I'll cry/whine/bitch if I want to. (Plus, it's Saturday and not as many people will see it as if it were a weekday.)