In which our heroine gamely admits that she has lost the plot

But sadly, not the weight.

No friends, quite the opposite. The grim fact is, some of the weight (not all!) has come back. I have allowed it to come back. I am not happy about this. I am not proud of this. It is what it is, which is...not great.

I can feel it, too, this fat suit I thought I'd left behind (for a slightly smaller fat-suit, that is, but still). My clothes are a little tighter and less flattering, my right knee feels all hinky again, my muscles feel...non-existant.

Part of it was wedding and renovation stress (oh yeah! I'm totally married now! It's wicked. Here, to distract you, are some photos), part of it is my stupid work schedule that eats up all my time every day and renders me a bump on a log of a chair with wheels. Part of it is...I don't know. A feeling that everything else was out of control for a while, which always makes me anxious and when I'm anxious like that, I eat.

And then I just plain old didn't get to the gym very much, and started eating chocolate and bread every day, and you know, that way madness lies. And I stopped weighing myself, and headed back to that happy town called Denial.

Well, baby, I am back. Tentatively. I am working hard to be back, let's put it that way. I know I need to start tracking. I need to figure out the exercise thing, and just stop being so frigging busy all the time, or maybe prioritize the exercise thing on the weekends, instead of trying to fit it in around my stupid work schedule (which will be changing in January, thank god). I need to get my head straight about this whole enterprise, again. Because I liked the way I was feeling, and I don't like the way I'm feeling now.

Writing here is a massive first step.

And I lost about a pound this week, just by being a bit more conscientious.

So that's positive. And the rest, I will keep working on.