So. I'm officially back on my own wagon. Not anyone else's wagon. Not a vague, general wagon. MY wagon. I imagine it as totally pimped out. And blue. With lots of sparkles. And puppies.
I had every intention of getting up early this morning so I could work out. But we didn't get much sleep Saturday night. So the pure exhaustion in my body took nearly beat the life out of my alarm when it went off. I decided to give myself a break. I slept in.
I was doing really well having my workout in the afternoons, but I also wasn't doing much cooking. And since we're now broke and both trying to watch what we eat, not cooking is not an option. So back to the mornings. Hopefully it works out.
Today I've given myself about 850 calories in food. I realize that's not enough on a regular basis, but I need to shrink my stomach and appetite back down to a manageable level, and this has always worked best for me. One or two days of minimal calories. It's uncomfortable and makes me cranky, but it makes the rest of my diet much easier to handle.
Tonight I'm making rosemary bacon tri-bean soup. It will be delicious. And only about 350 calories per serving.
Nom nom.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
One. More. Time.
I can't do this anymore. I have picked myself up, dusted myself off, and hopped back on the horse/wagon/firetruck more times than I care to admit. Even to myself.
I'm tired.
I'll be a year smoke-free in 10 days. I read that and I can't even believe it. I have a friend from high school who is quitting and uses Facebook as a source of support. I read her posts and cringe. I remember those feelings. Depression, grief (yes, grief), anger, hostility, hopelessness. It's awful. I remember it like it was just a couple of weeks ago. So how has a year managed to go by?
I'm so proud of my quit. If it were an actual, physical thing, it would be tattered and wet from all the love I would bestow upon it.
But.
Why is there a "but"? I don't even know. I just feel like there's a huge gaping hole. I won't fill it with smoking, but I sure as heck have been trying to fill it with just about anything else. I feel like a vacuum- both the machine (hello chips! hello hamburger! nice to see you again, wine!) and the scientific term for the absence of matter.
Poignant. I am the absence of matter.
Oh well. Here's to dusting off and picking up. one. more. time.
I'm tired.
I'll be a year smoke-free in 10 days. I read that and I can't even believe it. I have a friend from high school who is quitting and uses Facebook as a source of support. I read her posts and cringe. I remember those feelings. Depression, grief (yes, grief), anger, hostility, hopelessness. It's awful. I remember it like it was just a couple of weeks ago. So how has a year managed to go by?
I'm so proud of my quit. If it were an actual, physical thing, it would be tattered and wet from all the love I would bestow upon it.
But.
Why is there a "but"? I don't even know. I just feel like there's a huge gaping hole. I won't fill it with smoking, but I sure as heck have been trying to fill it with just about anything else. I feel like a vacuum- both the machine (hello chips! hello hamburger! nice to see you again, wine!) and the scientific term for the absence of matter.
Poignant. I am the absence of matter.
Oh well. Here's to dusting off and picking up. one. more. time.
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