High school kids around these parts use the term “salty” to mean mad, angry, “butt hurt” or bitter. So, my answer to that seemingly innocuous question is, “Hell yes. I’m salty. I’m Dead Sea Salty! I’m Salty McSaltiness! Yeah, I need my sodium levels checked.”
So, we made it home from Colorado at 4 a.m. Whew! What a trip, what a drive! Four and a half days away from home and the comfort of routine.
What a total and utter frustration to step on the scale this morning with high hopes. I did not cheat, I did not take bites of yummy stuff, I did not misstep that I know of. Why, oh why, do I weigh exactly what I did the day I left?
You might tell me that it’s a GREAT accomplishment to not gain weight on vacation. I will tell you that if denying myself EVERYTHING, bending over backward to be meticulous in my diet is how I will live my life from here on out to “maintain” my weight. I’m gonna quit now.
I’m just plain pissed. After all that frustration, denial, and deliberate avoidance of all things delicious…
I’ve not had a drink in 42 days. I’ve not had sugar. I’ve not had carbs. And I’m pissed about it. So, yes, I’m a bit salty. You could say that.