30 Days: Worse For the Wear

30 days in.  No weight loss.  More weight gain.  Why?

Here's the answer

• cookies (gluten free doesn't make them calorie free)
• eggnog (can't handle diary well, but doesn't stop me from imbibing.  Mmmmmhhhhh, noggy goodness)
• depression 
• butternut squash mac and cheese (Swiss instead of cheddar makes its betta)
• anxieties 
• scones (they're not really that good, but does it stop me.  No!)
• little sleep (Because nothing says Christmas like 3 5' snowmen on a 2 ft lawn, just outside my bedroom window)
• rock through the car windshield which cancelled Christmas plans

I'm not the person I want to be.  I want to be so much more.  And right now my head is spinning with all the things I want to do, like map out my novel, clean my room, do some yoga, visit the library, and yet I want to curl up in bed and sleep for three days.

Maybe a good night's sleep and a cry would help.  Maybe I should sleep on the couch tonight, which is dark and tomb-like.  Maybe I'll feel better in the morning.

Four of Hearts

The scale seems to indicate that I lost weight, however I don't feel that I have. To tell you the truth I don't even remember what I weighed last week. All I know is that right now I feel really depressed and stressed about where I am.
Last week I had a blast on Thanksgiving. I met some new friends, I laughed really hard, learn some new references for MST 3K, and inhaled all sorts of yummy food. But when the hostess of Thanksgiving posted a picture today on FB, my immediate reaction was "I look like a fat cow."
I'm super stressed now more than ever. My Christmas plans have changed and I'm now guilt-tripping down to Florida for Christmas. So now not only am I worried that I can't financially afford this, I'm worried about the reception my weight will get. When I was down over the summer picking my son up from his summer vacation in Florida, I was rudely informed that I was fat and unhealthy.
Which comes as no surprise to me, both that the person acted that way and also, I know I'm overweight. Like all the women in my family I'm stress eater, and I tend to have a lot of stress in my life. Raising a son on my own and working full time isn't easy. I don't have the luxury to exercise whenever the mood strikes and my diet can be pretty shitty from being on the run all the time.
The problem is the people who point out my weight remember that as child and a teenager I was really active. I played soccer for 13 years, in addition to every other sport on the face of this earth. so when I was easily running 3 miles at each practice, it was no problem keeping the weight off.
But I'm not 16 anymore I'm going on 33. And yes I realize that I do need to get healthier. But its not going to make me feel more motivated to get in shape when it's pointed out that I'm fat.

Day One, Not Fun

Started the day with the best of intentions. Packed a balanced, nutritious lunch. And then got yelled at by the geriatric, female Scrooge I currently with for.  In front of my child.

Not. Cool.

So what was my response? Yell back? Risk an assault charge and punch her face? Grab my son's hand and peel rubber down the driveway?

The answer was none of the above. I spoke calmly but internally I ragged all damn day.

And being an emotional eater, I decided to dull my anger temporarily by eating an entire medium size veggie pizza for dinner. And now i'm angry at myself, not just her.

Hope day 2 goes better.

This Turkey is Stuffed

Today's feast was hosted by a lovely friend.  It was a memorable time; I drank some very yummy spiced wines, ate far too much pork/lamb sausage cornbread dressing, and lost count of how many times I laughed.

It was fantastic. I wish I could have stock-piled the leftovers, but I can't/didn't. If i'm going to be serious about getting rid of my excess giblets, pardon the pun, I've got to go cold turkey.

I should get to bed before my food baby settles and I decide that, yes I can find some room in my overstuffed stomach for some Halloween candy.

Why Weight

Things I am sick of

• The current Administration
• The cost of gas
• The drug/flop house across the street
• My weight
• Christmas shopping traffic on Rt. 3
• The mouse that keeps out outwitting every trap and poison I set out.  He shat a ring around the last trap.
• My feet being cold all winter long.  I wear 2 pairs of socks with my shoes, nuthin doing son. 

And I realize and admit that the only damn thing I can control is my weight.  I mean, if I were worth my weight in gold, I'd be checking myself into the bank right away.

So here I am on the eve of the eve of Thanksgiving, the mother of all holidays.  I love to eat.  The kitchen was the focal point in my Gonga's house, as it is at my mom's.  We loved to cook and loved to eat even more.  I have so many happy childhood memories of spending the two days preceding Thanksgiving staying at my grandmother's house and cooking, which began just after breakfast and lasted way past dinner. 

Me, age 12, mixing cornbread dressing in cooler.  Because there isn't a bowl big enough.

Mounds of celery and onion simmering in sticks of butter for the multiple pans of dressing.  The food processor pulsating whole cranberries to bits.  Mince meat and pumpkin pies cooling on top of the washer and dryer.  If I concentrate hard enough, I can still smell the leftover pie crusts, slather with butter, cinnamon, and sugar baking in the oven.

I shudder to think of the amount of glorious calories I'll be inhaling as I feast on honey-brined turkey, pumpkin pie, cranberry relish, marshmallow salad, and stuffing.

But I can't take it any longer.  When I blew out my knee in '08, I knew I was going to have problems with it every winter.  And it's only been coldish weather for 3 weeks and I'm already popping ibuprofen like House pops Vicodin.  I know if I don't get my weight down and my body back in shape I'll be limping along on my cane like I was five years ago.  (And it won't be the cool limp that lands me a flatmate, ala Watson running through the streets with Sherlock).

It's all fun and games the next two days.  Friday, the bitching begins.