At wits end. Done.
I suppose I’m at my tipping point. I’m at the end of my rope. At the edge of a cliff. Backed into a corner… well, as far as I can wedge my fat ass into the proverbial corner.
With 50 pounds to lose, I’d like to say that it snuck up on me while I wasn’t looking. Truth is, I wasn’t looking because I’ve got an above average imagination and a naturally happy (jolly seems more apropos) disposition. To say I didn’t see it coming would be somewhat truthful because I popped in and out of consciousness where my ass was concerned. I’ve got so many excuses that I could fill up this page, maybe even the whole entire world wide web. Things like:
- I’m an athlete with a 10% body fat composition (30 years ago), 6 cupcakes won’t hurt me
- This migraine is killing me and if I’m gonna die, I’m going down with sugar in my veins. I need a Coke.
- Tennis burns lots of calories, and I played dubs for an hour. Let’s have nachos and strawberry mango margaritas…again.
- I”m stressed out because I should be doing 43, 651 things at this exact moment. I need dark chocolate chips and the Peter Pan please.
- I’m tired.
- I hate the gym, and it hates me. I bent my ring lifting weights and it costs so damned much to get it fixed.
- The boys want cookies. Yay! Let’s make cookies! We’ll make the kind without eggs so we can eat ALL the dough!
Oh, and the list goes on and on in my head. It’s like hearing a replay of the last 5 years of embarrassment and shame. OH the shame!
So, I do declare that I will slowly and methodically rip that 50# monkey off my back, and my ass and my… starting today. Enjoy my journey, because I’m gonna try to sleep on the plane. Wake me up when we get there.