I have no idea why I’m awake already on a Saturday, but I might as well put it to good use, and hope for a nap, later.
…All that matters right now, is that I’m 14.5 pounds down, as of this morning, with 6 days left to Opening Night, and the completion of my original February 12th weight goal.
6 days.
Can I do it?
…Moving myself slowly and healthily from “Big Daddy” toward “Oliver Twist (after more)” on the scale, has not been easy. But lets be real: it never is. All I know is that I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer and give up, but I’ve been working on this last 4 pounds of loss three times longer than all the rest, and don’t see how it is even mathematically possible to reach the final number at this point in this many days, short of a major intestinal upset.
…Granted, this last week was all but a wash due to monthly hormones, which I have zero control over…but to launch into the hell that is Tech Week, and expect weight loss, is straight up insane. All that stress? The late, long hours? Less time distance between work and call? No time to cook things and barely time to drive through a place and wait for a greasy bag of stuff to be handed to you? Eating in pockets of break times beyond 10 pm, of necessity?
I mean, come on.
Lets be real.
…But I am so fucking close.
…I’m almost there, you guys!
…20 pounds in 2 months.
…So close I can taste it.
Make it by deadline, or not, I’ll still keep pushing toward the goal. But then, the new final goal on top of it, will feel (and be) further away…harder to push toward…without that buzzing high of having reached what I wanted to reach, the first time.
I tell myself, it is all for a good cause. Health, and BMI charts, and all of that has something to do with it, sure. But honestly, this is mostly about my own sense of self. And an oncoming birthday. And security in my instrument to be able to tell the kind of stories I want to tell with it.
…My rules, my time.
…It’s about realizing and saying, “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t like it,” then going about changing things from that day on, at your own bidding.
…It’s about taking control and killing the feeling of restless “stuck.”
…It’s about denying yourself the easy comforts in lieu of the well-earned ones, which somehow mean twice as much, feel more extravagant, and bring a whole new level of appreciation.
It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t readily dive into a 7-course Italian spread right now, if you offered it to me.
…It means, I simply don’t have room to wolf it all down anymore, so have to content myself with the supreme pleasure of a thousand beautiful smells, (which cost nothing), and one helping…chosen painstakingly, specific in its lust for every flavor, planned out in expectation, for a perfect…single..plate…of “omygod-yum.”
Shit.
Now I’m hungry.
Dammit. Why do I do these things to me?
~D
