Twenty four little hours

When Taco came home last night, I said, do you want to hear about how I did today? And he said, with what? And I said, hello, dummy, with what we talked about yesterday morning? And he said, oh, you started changing already? And I said, Oh yeah, I do not fuck around.

Ok, maybe I fucked around for most of my life, but now that I've made a decision -- a conscious decision, a vocalised decision, and this is very important, this part of it -- now that I've made a decision, I'm all, like, decisive. Ah, that rings with authority, doesn't it? There was the Weight Watchers, for starters. Weird and churchy though it feels to me -- and that's without going to meetings, even -- joining was a bold, decisive move. My own devices haven't been very helpful to me over the past few decades, so I'm ready to try someone else's devices, even if they scare me a little. Maybe especially if they scare me a little.

So anyhow, I had a perfect day. A day of perfect, clean eating. Here are the things I did not eat yesterday:
Chocolate chip cookies provided by the MN Cookie Cabal, a media organisation that has its headquarters RIGHT BESIDE MY DESK. The cookies aren't particularly tempting, and salt has always been more my game, but the cookies are THERE, and lately, that's been enough to have me eating at least a cookie or two a day.
Speaking of salt: A Quarter Pounder With Cheese. This is something I eat approximately four times a year. Yes, my quarterly Quarter Pounder. And because there is nothing Core about it, I longed for it yesterday. But not too terribly. Not badly enough that I went on automatic and footed it over to the grease factory to get one. Though I did walk by. But that was on my way to the Y to get the class schedule. Mwhahah.
French fries from Randy's Pizza on the way home. I was hungry, it was late, I hadn't made a supper plan, and there was Randy's, with its neon siren song, right at the corner of my street. But that would be foolish, I thought, as I cruised by on my bike. I don't really want those fries. What I really want is to make myself proud. And some whole wheat pasta. With veggie sauce. And a big salad. With two teaspoons of olive oil, which, it turns out, is exactly enough! Well, slap my ass and call me rosy.
Several handfuls of lime nacho chips. My previous MO would be to scoff some of these while cooking supper. Thought about it tonight. That's the thing -- I THOUGHT about it. It's nice to be thoughtful. I am everywhere else in my life. It's my thing. The goal, the true goal, is to become thoughtful about food, as well. And not in some abstract way, but in a very, very concrete way indeed.

So here I am, a day in. I measured myself this morning. Taco came into the room while I was doing so, and it was so marvellous to feel unashamed. To acknowledge my body. To have it spoken between us, rather than unspoken. To say he doesn't care what my body looks like is not quite accurate. He loves me regardless, that is true. He loves the package I come in, he says. But we both want me strong and capable. And in my case, that's going to mean smaller as well. We're both excited by this. I'm not doing it for him. But maybe I'm able to do it because of him, somehow. Not that he'll be the one not eating ice cream. Not that he'll be the one going to the gym. Not that he'll be the one rearranging patterns of thought and habit. But he makes me feel safe. Safe enough to change.

I am indeed a lucky happy girl.