It is Thursday.

Today I ate chicken noodle soup for lunch. And multi-grain rice crackers.


Sheeeeiiittttt! It is only day two of NaBloPoMo and already I’m wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. How am I gonna produce a post a day? I’m just not that inspired. My life = boring. What to write about. What to write about.


Or, being honest here, my un-weight loss. I just really, REALLY, depressed myself by counting the weeks I’ve been attending Weight Watchers. Tonight is week 38. And I haven’t even broken the 20 pound mark yet. I have been thisclose some weeks. And this

close other weeks. It is frustrating me to the point that 20 is now my least favourite number. 20, I hate you more than 13. I hate you more than 85 (number of pounds I need to lose). I hate you more than 30 (number of days I have to blog in a row…and could I please whine about this fact more?).

Two weeks ago, I was a mere 0.2lbs away from my 20. So last week I tried to do everything right. I ate well, I counted my points, I journalled, I worked out…and I gained another pound. I actually cried all the way home. I blubbered and sniffled all the way through the drive-thru, where I purchased enough fast-food to double myself in size. I cried along with Spandeau Ballet (so truuuue, funny how it seems, I’ll always be fat, I’ll never live the skinny dream…) on the radio, until I pulled into my driveway and weeped all the way to the front door. Where I was met with two shining faces, waiting eagerly as they always do, to enquire, “how much did you lose this week Mom?”


Some say it’s easier to lose weight if you do it with a friend or relative, but I’m beginning to think they didn’t mean me, the Green-Eyed-Jealous-Bitchy-Monster. I joined WW with my Mom and Sister-in-Law. In fact, I practically had to drag my Mom to her first meeting. She insisted she couldn’t stick to a “another” diet regimen, she’d been on enough diets in her life to know they didn’t work and she just didn’t have the energy to try. Guess what? Out of the three of us, she’s lost the most weight. She’s done the regular exercise, she’s kept up her food journal, she’s gone without treats. She’ll probably hit the 45 mark tonight. For the first time in my 34 years, she has a waist! And my SIL, Debbie, she’s lost over 40 pounds herself. She looks fabulous and just recently put on a pair of jeans two sizes smaller that she hasn’t worn in five years.

And me? All I can think of is how I hate being so behind them. They’re both over the 40 mark and I can’t even break the 20. I’m feeling like a loser. Not a weight loser, a regular joe-blow loser. The next 65 pounds just seem so daunting. I mean, if I can’t even lose 20lbs how the hell do I expect to ever reach 30 or 40 or 80?

Right now I’m of the mind that if I ever actually get over the 20 pound hump I don’t want any acknowledgement for it. The WW leader usually gives you a gold star for every five pounds you lose and then makes a big deal about it by announcing it in the meeting. I’m going to request that she doesn’t do that. It needs to be skipped. Because when she asks me that question, “so how is the program working for you?” a lot of bad swears will flow out of my mouth, accompanied by black smoke and flying insects. Also a fullscale WWF-like wrestling match could ensue, complete with some bashing of those uncomfortable hotel meeting room folding chairs over people’s heads. There may even be mention of where she can actually stick that gold star…

…like right up 20’s ass!

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