Confessions of a NonCatholic Fat Fat Girl

I've been too down to write about how down I've been because I hate exposing my pouty, doubtful self--especially when I have no great ideas for how to get turned around.

But I got my hair cut today and my eyebrows waxed, and I know how stupid that sounds. But it just made me feel better somehow.

So now I feel like maybe I can make these confessions to you that I've been thinking about telling you, but without having to yell them up at you from the depths of despair.

So in case you haven't noticed, and even if you had, you probably wouldn't point it out to me because I've gleaned that most of this blog world is about supporting and "me tooing" to posts--not saying, "hey. . .are you sure you're doing the right thing?" or "hey, stop that!" comments (Of course I am not complaining about this as it is so easy to hurt feelings online and I like the supportive versus attacking blog land that we share.), I've been totally not following any kind of eating or exercising plan since before Thanksgiving.

And I admit it, for whatever good it does, to say that Hubby was right when he said I wouldn't be able to get back on track without feeling horrible about it when I cavalierly laid all my active and nourishing noshing ways to the side. And I let my self-caring needs become like so much trash tucked under buying and wrapping gifts that are forgotten almost as soon as they are opened and that caused Hubby so much angst for my spending. Whatever. It's done. It's done. It's over.

So here I am now. Eight pounds or so heavier. My successes are that I did create a menu this weekend and I've been sticking with it pretty well. My nemesis is exercise. I just think, "Ok, go walk now. Now is a good time." "You have a good break here, go to the gym now." But then this louder, more lazy voice, the one that must want me to keep this round face says, "Naw. . . " and my big butt stays exactly where it is. . . but there is still this little chanting inside saying, "when, when, when, when?"

And I'm planning to stop going to my PhD. I know you won't try to stop me or talk me out of it, and I'm not asking you to. Here are the reasons. First of all and mainly, I just never have really liked her. I feel like she talks to me like a Weight Watcher leader would and that feels empty. And she tends to interrupt me so we never get into many issues. And now, she's changed her hours so she doesn't have any more 5:00 appts. because she wants to take care of herself and make sure she exercises and has more time to eat dinner, and frankly, this really pisses me off and makes me jealous because I don't have this capability in my job. But more to the point, she wouldn't get me a regular 4:00 appt because she wants to "spread those around" so I haven't seen her since a few weeks before X-mas and my next appt isn't until next week and then 1 two weeks later. . . and she doesn't remember what's going on with me now from one visit to the next so I just don't feel like I'm a priority to her. And WTF if I'm paying someone to listen and they can't get it straight, screw 'em. So why am I so hesitant to call and say I'm not coming anymore? Probably because I'm not sure what to do next.

And I haven't seen my trainer. And all my paid sessions are done. And she has started her own business and though she "can" still see me at the gym right downstairs from where I work, she would prefer that I meet her in her new more private facility, which means I have to drive there. If I leave work before 6PM someone on my staff has to stay, and one of them has kids and the other one is the one who always gets stuck. This is my excuse.

WTF, I'm like a child starting to crawl all over again. I'm in the middle of the floor, and I don't know how to get over to where I want to be, and I have no idea what to do, so I think I'll just cry til I hiccup. . .