Like many, I have been seduced by products and kitchen gadgets that promised me the world- or at the very least to slice, dice and chop- only to realize I'd been 'had.' Aside from Eastenders, I'm not much of a tv watcher but I will admit to one guilty pleasure. I love infomercials. Given the chance and the ability to strong arm the tv away from my son, I'd watch infomercials all day long. With a smile and shampoo commercial hair, they promise you the world and frankly, I find it all quite mesmerizing. They're going to straighten my hair, tone my abs and vacuum seal my veggies. And if I order in the next 30 seconds, they'll throw in a potato peeler to boot. Hand on heart, I will admit to ordering from infomercials, especially in the middle of the night. I've been disappointed to say the least. The clay pot remained in its box and never saw the light of day let alone an oven. My intentions were good with Core Secrets, however a big woman trying to balance herself on an exercise ball is not a sight to behold. I needed Mike's help to stabilize my body on the ball before I could even begin the exercises. There was also a Pilates program that I ordered only to discover that to do some of those exercises, you had to have a body like the one you wanted. As I write this, a common theme revolving around my purchases emerges. It all has to do with food or exercise. And sometimes straight hair.
However, I became addicted to the Jack LaLanne infomercials pushing his juicers. Now, I'm not a fruit eater as fruit does nothing for me. Give me veggies any day. But the juiced fruit that I saw on tv set my pulse racing. I thought how wonderful it would be to have fresh, juiced fruit every morning instead of orange juice from a tetra pack.
For a good year, I thought about it and watched the infomercial. Alot. About 8 months ago, on a whim, I walked into our local appliance store just to see if they carried any juicers. And what do you think greeted me when I walked into that store? Yep- a stack of juicers and they were on sale! I bought my Phillips juicer on the spot. For 2 months straight, I juiced every morning for the 4 of us. I'd juice apples, oranges, pineapples, kiwi, pears and blueberries and I loved it. But the boys weren't quite sold. They, especially Daniel, preferred the store bought juice.
Recently, I pulled out the juicer again and put it to use. I love juiced fruit. A book by Jason Vale, The Juice Master, 7lbs in 7 days- super juice diet had been included with the juicer but I had thrown it in the drawer. About a month ago, I read it and thought, well, this is only for 7 days, surely I could handle that. In previous posts, I've made it very clear how I feel about dieting.
Today is my third day. And I like it. You juice 5 times a day and that's all you have for a week. Initially, I was concerned about some of the items on the grocery list such as alfalfa sprouts, kale and spinach but after tasting it, I was soon converted.
On the plus side, I do have more energy. Granted, I'm no dynamo but I'm not feeling sluggish 24/7 and wondering when the next nap is happening. I'm not a morning person but I've been getting up earlier than usual. Also, I've found my ankles again. They were beginning to look like an elephant's ankles: all thick and wrinkly. Surprisingly, I'm not hungry and you'd think with drinking only juice for a week you'd be really hungry but you're not. Best of all, I've had no cravings for things like bread, chocolate and other processed carbohydrates. And for that alone, it's worth it.
On the downside, there is the expense and the clean up. It costs alot to buy the fruit and veggies- about 70 euros for the week, but if you're eating nothing else, it probably isn't too bad. Plus there are supplements: spirulina, wheat grass and friendly bacteria. These I purchased from http://www.juicemaster.com. In addition to the juicer, you need a blender. Juicing 5 times a day means cleaning juicer parts 5 times a day. Not for the faint of heart. After the first day, I copped on and now make some of the juices ahead of time, so I'm only cleaning it 2-3 times a day.
Could I do a juice only routine for the rest of my life? No. Too much of a good thing is not a good thing. Would I incorporate some form of juicing into my daily life? Definitely, I enjoy it too much not to.
Happy New Year! I hope that 2010 brings you the best of everything.
I would never be young again. You don't know enough about yourself to live life properly. My juices didn't really begin flowing until I turned 40.
Shirley MacLaine
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
26th
I hope that everyone had a Merry Christmas.
Today is the 26th and I promised myself and you as well that I would weigh myself on the 26th of every month. The month has gone by fast.
Here are today's stats:
309 pounds
21.13 stone
140.1 kg
I've lost 6 pounds since last month. At my current weight, if I had strictly dieted, I would have probably dropped about 20- 30 pounds. But the mere mention of the word, 'diet' produces a nervous tic. I'm more interested in lifestyle changes than dieting. Now I can beat myself up for lack of perfection (as I would have done in the past) or I can celebrate the baby step of progress. I choose the latter. Besides, it took 30 years to get to this point, so I've accepted the fact that it won't be resolved overnight.
I did achieve my main goal of going cold turkey off the Galaxy chocolate bars. To cope with a stress level in the stratosphere, I comforted myself with 2-3 family sized Galaxy bars a day. I'd always have a supply of 6-8 bars on hand and when the last bar was finished, I'd start to get anxious and restless, which would only be relieved by a trip to the store to stock up and at 1.50 a crack, it wasn't cheap. I felt that before I did anything, I had to break this habit first. Initially it was very difficult, and I did slip up, but since that slip up, I haven't had any of the Galaxy bars. There was an immediate impact from this: my ulcer calmed down. Previously, every bar eaten induced terrible gastric pain and a lot of acid reflux. The pain is gone and the reflux has lessened.
It hasn't been an easy month. A disappointing court decision led to my head being buried in a Dorito bag for 2 days. And then there's the whole Christmas season, which I love and all those Christmas cookies. But let's face it- when is life not stressful? But this last month is behind me and now, I look forward.
As I head into my second month, I want to concentrate on two things. I want to drink more water and I want to move my body. Pulling myself up to a stand or getting up from a chair does not constitute a work out, no matter how much it feels like one. It's time to start some form of exercise that will be gentle on my joints.
Start weight: 315 lbs
Goal weight: 284 lbs (10% weight loss)
Current weight: 309 lbs.
There is no failure except in no longer trying. There is no defeat except from within, no insurmountable barrier except our own inherent weakness of purpose.
Today is the 26th and I promised myself and you as well that I would weigh myself on the 26th of every month. The month has gone by fast.
Here are today's stats:
309 pounds
21.13 stone
140.1 kg
I've lost 6 pounds since last month. At my current weight, if I had strictly dieted, I would have probably dropped about 20- 30 pounds. But the mere mention of the word, 'diet' produces a nervous tic. I'm more interested in lifestyle changes than dieting. Now I can beat myself up for lack of perfection (as I would have done in the past) or I can celebrate the baby step of progress. I choose the latter. Besides, it took 30 years to get to this point, so I've accepted the fact that it won't be resolved overnight.
I did achieve my main goal of going cold turkey off the Galaxy chocolate bars. To cope with a stress level in the stratosphere, I comforted myself with 2-3 family sized Galaxy bars a day. I'd always have a supply of 6-8 bars on hand and when the last bar was finished, I'd start to get anxious and restless, which would only be relieved by a trip to the store to stock up and at 1.50 a crack, it wasn't cheap. I felt that before I did anything, I had to break this habit first. Initially it was very difficult, and I did slip up, but since that slip up, I haven't had any of the Galaxy bars. There was an immediate impact from this: my ulcer calmed down. Previously, every bar eaten induced terrible gastric pain and a lot of acid reflux. The pain is gone and the reflux has lessened.
It hasn't been an easy month. A disappointing court decision led to my head being buried in a Dorito bag for 2 days. And then there's the whole Christmas season, which I love and all those Christmas cookies. But let's face it- when is life not stressful? But this last month is behind me and now, I look forward.
As I head into my second month, I want to concentrate on two things. I want to drink more water and I want to move my body. Pulling myself up to a stand or getting up from a chair does not constitute a work out, no matter how much it feels like one. It's time to start some form of exercise that will be gentle on my joints.
Start weight: 315 lbs
Goal weight: 284 lbs (10% weight loss)
Current weight: 309 lbs.
There is no failure except in no longer trying. There is no defeat except from within, no insurmountable barrier except our own inherent weakness of purpose.
Elbert Hubbard
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Dog Days of Winter
I heard a story the other day that still has me laughing MAO every time I think about it. And with the week I'd been having, a good laugh was what I was in desperate need of.
It's all about a dog named Bear. My sister, Bec, picked up a dog from the pound last year. A Great Dane/ Lab mix, he was an eight month old puppy that had been abandoned. Bec has four kids and he immediately became attached to both my sister and the kids as well as being fiercely protective of them.
He's a big dog and for the most part, gentle as most large breeds are. And like most dogs, he is a pack animal who suffers from severe separation anxiety when they are gone, as evidenced by the following:
-he ate my sister's Christmas cards last week. They were all ready to go save stamps, but they went another route other than the postal one.
-he has learned how to open doors. Everything is game. He opens the front door and walks outside but then will come back in and do his business. No one wants a dog's mess in the house especially a large one. Especially a large one that just ate a whole bunch of Christmas cards.
-he opened the pantry door one day and ate all the cereal.
-he learned how to open the refrigerator and ate all the ricotta cheese so my sister couldn't make lasagna. She has to bungee cord the refrigerator closed at night. Apparently, Bec has a routine before she goes to bed to protect the house.
-did you say crate? Yeah, she tried crating him while they were gone and they returned to find him out of the crate and the crate itself was a mangled mess.
It's probably a combination of the puppy in him as well as the anxiety. Apparently, my sister is ready to give him his walking papers. After the cost of blood work at the vet -to determine what I don't know- which was normal, they suggested a behavioral specialist. I hope he gets a reprieve if only for the laugh he provided for me. I'm sure that if he were my dog, I wouldn't find this funny, but some day when my sister looks back, she will laugh at this. I hope.
I have my own theory. I think the holidays make dogs nutty. My brother's dog, Champ, ate 7 pounds of Christmas cookies last week which resulted in my sister in law pulling a plastic bag out of his ass. When I had an apartment with my friend Paula, my dog Brody chewed through her gifts to get to the box of chocolates. When we were kids, we returned home on Christmas night to find that our dog, Boots, had eaten a spray painted macaroni wreath. My mother called poison control. The dog lived.
What does a dog do on his day off? He can't lie around- that's his job.
George Carlin
It's all about a dog named Bear. My sister, Bec, picked up a dog from the pound last year. A Great Dane/ Lab mix, he was an eight month old puppy that had been abandoned. Bec has four kids and he immediately became attached to both my sister and the kids as well as being fiercely protective of them.
He's a big dog and for the most part, gentle as most large breeds are. And like most dogs, he is a pack animal who suffers from severe separation anxiety when they are gone, as evidenced by the following:
-he ate my sister's Christmas cards last week. They were all ready to go save stamps, but they went another route other than the postal one.
-he has learned how to open doors. Everything is game. He opens the front door and walks outside but then will come back in and do his business. No one wants a dog's mess in the house especially a large one. Especially a large one that just ate a whole bunch of Christmas cards.
-he opened the pantry door one day and ate all the cereal.
-he learned how to open the refrigerator and ate all the ricotta cheese so my sister couldn't make lasagna. She has to bungee cord the refrigerator closed at night. Apparently, Bec has a routine before she goes to bed to protect the house.
-did you say crate? Yeah, she tried crating him while they were gone and they returned to find him out of the crate and the crate itself was a mangled mess.
It's probably a combination of the puppy in him as well as the anxiety. Apparently, my sister is ready to give him his walking papers. After the cost of blood work at the vet -to determine what I don't know- which was normal, they suggested a behavioral specialist. I hope he gets a reprieve if only for the laugh he provided for me. I'm sure that if he were my dog, I wouldn't find this funny, but some day when my sister looks back, she will laugh at this. I hope.
I have my own theory. I think the holidays make dogs nutty. My brother's dog, Champ, ate 7 pounds of Christmas cookies last week which resulted in my sister in law pulling a plastic bag out of his ass. When I had an apartment with my friend Paula, my dog Brody chewed through her gifts to get to the box of chocolates. When we were kids, we returned home on Christmas night to find that our dog, Boots, had eaten a spray painted macaroni wreath. My mother called poison control. The dog lived.
What does a dog do on his day off? He can't lie around- that's his job.
George Carlin
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Reason #1
There are all sorts of reasons why people want to change themselves or rid themselves of an addiction.
In my case, I have lots of reasons why I want to lose weight and get healthy.
When I was younger, it had to do with my vanity and every diet was a means to an end to get to the result of a better appearance. My own health didn't even enter into the equation.
Now as I head into my mid forties and my body is prematurely falling apart, my health is definitely a major reason to go from fat to fit, but it's not the number 1 reason.
I'm doing this for me.
Over the years, food has slowly and insiduously crept into my life to the point that it now controls it. Food calls the shots and not me. It holds my self confidence, my self esteem and my self image at ransom. And quite frankly, I'm fed up.
Once upon a time, I used to be quite strong and I had a backbone. Now, I fear any confrontation of any sort. If I'm dissatisfied with a service, I can't even approach the service provider without a rise in my heart rate.
I'm not that naive to think that once I hit the magic number of 140 pounds my life will be perfect. On the contrary.
Back in January, I took an honest look at my life and myself and decided, that with the exception of my boys, I wasn't happy with any of it. And no amount of weight loss was going to fix it. Help it, yes. But solve all of my problems? No. So, I informed my husband that I was going to see a therapist and deal with my demons. I warned him that this was going to be the year that I put myself first.
I knew that at some level, before I fixed my body I had to fix my head. With the help of an incredible counsellor, it has been both a difficult and tremendous journey as I start to reclaim my life and wrest control from food.
It also gave me courage to confront the fact that I had a seriously dysfunctional marriage. It was time to take the blinders off and face the fact, a rather sad one, that I was better off without him.
Luckily, I come from a long line of strong, independent women. It's my turn to step up to the plate and take my place among them.
I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everyone.
Bill Cosby
In my case, I have lots of reasons why I want to lose weight and get healthy.
When I was younger, it had to do with my vanity and every diet was a means to an end to get to the result of a better appearance. My own health didn't even enter into the equation.
Now as I head into my mid forties and my body is prematurely falling apart, my health is definitely a major reason to go from fat to fit, but it's not the number 1 reason.
I'm doing this for me.
Over the years, food has slowly and insiduously crept into my life to the point that it now controls it. Food calls the shots and not me. It holds my self confidence, my self esteem and my self image at ransom. And quite frankly, I'm fed up.
Once upon a time, I used to be quite strong and I had a backbone. Now, I fear any confrontation of any sort. If I'm dissatisfied with a service, I can't even approach the service provider without a rise in my heart rate.
I'm not that naive to think that once I hit the magic number of 140 pounds my life will be perfect. On the contrary.
Back in January, I took an honest look at my life and myself and decided, that with the exception of my boys, I wasn't happy with any of it. And no amount of weight loss was going to fix it. Help it, yes. But solve all of my problems? No. So, I informed my husband that I was going to see a therapist and deal with my demons. I warned him that this was going to be the year that I put myself first.
I knew that at some level, before I fixed my body I had to fix my head. With the help of an incredible counsellor, it has been both a difficult and tremendous journey as I start to reclaim my life and wrest control from food.
It also gave me courage to confront the fact that I had a seriously dysfunctional marriage. It was time to take the blinders off and face the fact, a rather sad one, that I was better off without him.
Luckily, I come from a long line of strong, independent women. It's my turn to step up to the plate and take my place among them.
I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everyone.
Bill Cosby
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Survival of the Fittest
You can be too old or too fat, but you can't be both.
Did you ever notice that there are really no obese eighty or ninety year olds? I don't mean someone carrying an extra 30 or 40 pounds, but more than that. You never hear of a ninety year old worrying about whether they'll fit into a chair. Do you know of any eighty year old women who have to roll around on the floor to get their stockings on? Granted, they can get away with wearing knee-highs with skirts. Did any fire department ever have to cut a hole in a wall to rescue a 22 stone 90 year old? Doubt it. Do they even make adult diapers in plus sizes? 3x? Not thinking so.
You can survive cancer and heart disease, but you can't outrun obesity. How can you when you can barely get up from a chair? Obesity puts you at greater risk for cancer, heart disease, diabetes and just about everything else under the sun. The information on good nutrition and exercise is out there and in this day and age it is easily accessible. It's a basic equation of burning up more calories than you ingest. It's not rocket science. Yet, why can't I apply it?
For someone like myself, at age 43 and classified as morbidly obese, there are only 2 options: get fit or die. There are no gray areas here.
I know one thing for sure. If I continue to enjoy too much food now, I won't be around later to enjoy anything else.
I'm not overweight. I'm just nine inches too short.
Shelley Winters
Did you ever notice that there are really no obese eighty or ninety year olds? I don't mean someone carrying an extra 30 or 40 pounds, but more than that. You never hear of a ninety year old worrying about whether they'll fit into a chair. Do you know of any eighty year old women who have to roll around on the floor to get their stockings on? Granted, they can get away with wearing knee-highs with skirts. Did any fire department ever have to cut a hole in a wall to rescue a 22 stone 90 year old? Doubt it. Do they even make adult diapers in plus sizes? 3x? Not thinking so.
You can survive cancer and heart disease, but you can't outrun obesity. How can you when you can barely get up from a chair? Obesity puts you at greater risk for cancer, heart disease, diabetes and just about everything else under the sun. The information on good nutrition and exercise is out there and in this day and age it is easily accessible. It's a basic equation of burning up more calories than you ingest. It's not rocket science. Yet, why can't I apply it?
For someone like myself, at age 43 and classified as morbidly obese, there are only 2 options: get fit or die. There are no gray areas here.
I know one thing for sure. If I continue to enjoy too much food now, I won't be around later to enjoy anything else.
I'm not overweight. I'm just nine inches too short.
Shelley Winters
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Something Unexpected This Way Comes
Something very unexpected happened yesterday.
I lost my job.
For the past 18 months, I've worked for 2 agencies providing care in the home for the elderly and the disabled. To say that I love my job would be an understatement. In taking care of one patient a shift (instead of nine), I am able to provide the one on one care that drew me to nursing in the first place.
I've become very attached to the 2 clients that I look after. The bulk of my time (25 hours a week) is spent with a lovely, 95 year old lady.
Monday morning, I rang my boss and rang the client's daughter that I would need coverage for that day as both my boys were sick. In the past, when they've had colds or minor flu, I've left them in the care of their dad. However they were both sick, especially Daniel and needed their mom. At ages 5 and 7, they're still little boys. Daniel started Sunday morning with a high fever and vomiting. We took him to the on call doc and were told that it was viral (mesenteric adenitis), push fluids, no antibiotic needed. Michael started with the high fever later that evening.
Monday morning arrived and despite pushing Motrin and Tylenol and using cold compresses, I'm having trouble getting Daniel's fever down. I know my child. And he is sick. Really sick. Sleeping on and off during the day, he is listless and has no appetite. And I want to stay home with him. Michael, although wrestling with a fever at times, is a little better off than Daniel. He's quiet but he's coloring and playing. At times Daniel's fever is high- 104.2, 104.6 and I know that we're just a short jump to hallucinations and seizures.
After talking to my own GP, he gives me further instructions and tells me if he's no better to bring him in. The Motrin starts to work and 3 hours after, his temp starts it's climb down to the area of 99/100, a region I feel more comfortable with.
In the meantime, my boss calls me back and tells me that there is no coverage and I have to go to work. OK. I give my husband instructions and tell him at any time if Daniel appears worse, he is to take him to the doctor.
Against my better judgement, I go to work. Every hour, I ring home to check on Daniel. The fever is holding its own but Daniel remains fatigued, napping on and off. Halfway through my shift, the 95 year old client's daughter calls me. My relationship with this daughter is very good. She and her mother are lovely, kind people. They appreciate everything you do. They are a pleasure to know. The daughter tells me that she thinks it might be better if I find another client because she wants someone more reliable. I am stunned. Granted, I had to take 1 day off for court and 2 days off last week for an endoscopy, but other than that and my holidays to the States, I have never missed a day or called off before. She says that at the moment she understands that there is a lot of upheaval in my life but her priority is her mother. I said I understood and we hung up. I burst out crying. Despite the fact that we had a good relationship, it is just business at the end of the day.
When I arrive home, Daniel wakes up from a nap and tells me that he missed me that day. I can tell by looking at him that his fever is back and indeed it is. 104. But now he has a red rash all over his trunk and neck. I am sick because I know that a high fever and a rash could mean meningitis. I am literally shaking as I go to call the doctor. We are back at the doctor's at 6pm. Our doctor, a lovely lady, immediately diagnoses a severe case of tonsilitis and prescribes an antibiotic. This was missed on Sunday. Our doctor tells me that he is a very, very sick little boy.
By midnight, after one dose of antibiotic, the fever breaks and I'm grateful.
At 3 am, Michael comes into me, roasting. He has a fever of 103. The following morning, I take him to the doctor and he has a double ear infection. Antibiotic for him.
I text my boss and my client's daughter and let them know that I won't be in today. Michael is now sick and Daniel isn't fully out of the woods. I do not feel guilty at all. The three of us have a pajama day and we lay on the couch and watch brand new DVDs. By 5pm, they are fighting and I know they are on the mend.
As for my job, I know longer feel bad. Actually, I feel a little relieved. In the end, she did me a favor because now I don't have to agonize about quitting, which is what probably would have happened. Just as her mother is her priority, my children are my priority. First and foremost. I went against my instinct and went to work when I wanted to stay home and tend to them. That will not happen again.
Losing my job could not have happened at a worse time in my life. But I really want to be with my boys. There's a saying that whenever a door closes, a window opens up. Well, the doors are closing left and right lately. And nothing has opened up but I'm optimistic. I'll even settle for a crack in the wall.
In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be home with my boys.
A mother understands what a child does not say.
A Jewish proverb
I lost my job.
For the past 18 months, I've worked for 2 agencies providing care in the home for the elderly and the disabled. To say that I love my job would be an understatement. In taking care of one patient a shift (instead of nine), I am able to provide the one on one care that drew me to nursing in the first place.
I've become very attached to the 2 clients that I look after. The bulk of my time (25 hours a week) is spent with a lovely, 95 year old lady.
Monday morning, I rang my boss and rang the client's daughter that I would need coverage for that day as both my boys were sick. In the past, when they've had colds or minor flu, I've left them in the care of their dad. However they were both sick, especially Daniel and needed their mom. At ages 5 and 7, they're still little boys. Daniel started Sunday morning with a high fever and vomiting. We took him to the on call doc and were told that it was viral (mesenteric adenitis), push fluids, no antibiotic needed. Michael started with the high fever later that evening.
Monday morning arrived and despite pushing Motrin and Tylenol and using cold compresses, I'm having trouble getting Daniel's fever down. I know my child. And he is sick. Really sick. Sleeping on and off during the day, he is listless and has no appetite. And I want to stay home with him. Michael, although wrestling with a fever at times, is a little better off than Daniel. He's quiet but he's coloring and playing. At times Daniel's fever is high- 104.2, 104.6 and I know that we're just a short jump to hallucinations and seizures.
After talking to my own GP, he gives me further instructions and tells me if he's no better to bring him in. The Motrin starts to work and 3 hours after, his temp starts it's climb down to the area of 99/100, a region I feel more comfortable with.
In the meantime, my boss calls me back and tells me that there is no coverage and I have to go to work. OK. I give my husband instructions and tell him at any time if Daniel appears worse, he is to take him to the doctor.
Against my better judgement, I go to work. Every hour, I ring home to check on Daniel. The fever is holding its own but Daniel remains fatigued, napping on and off. Halfway through my shift, the 95 year old client's daughter calls me. My relationship with this daughter is very good. She and her mother are lovely, kind people. They appreciate everything you do. They are a pleasure to know. The daughter tells me that she thinks it might be better if I find another client because she wants someone more reliable. I am stunned. Granted, I had to take 1 day off for court and 2 days off last week for an endoscopy, but other than that and my holidays to the States, I have never missed a day or called off before. She says that at the moment she understands that there is a lot of upheaval in my life but her priority is her mother. I said I understood and we hung up. I burst out crying. Despite the fact that we had a good relationship, it is just business at the end of the day.
When I arrive home, Daniel wakes up from a nap and tells me that he missed me that day. I can tell by looking at him that his fever is back and indeed it is. 104. But now he has a red rash all over his trunk and neck. I am sick because I know that a high fever and a rash could mean meningitis. I am literally shaking as I go to call the doctor. We are back at the doctor's at 6pm. Our doctor, a lovely lady, immediately diagnoses a severe case of tonsilitis and prescribes an antibiotic. This was missed on Sunday. Our doctor tells me that he is a very, very sick little boy.
By midnight, after one dose of antibiotic, the fever breaks and I'm grateful.
At 3 am, Michael comes into me, roasting. He has a fever of 103. The following morning, I take him to the doctor and he has a double ear infection. Antibiotic for him.
I text my boss and my client's daughter and let them know that I won't be in today. Michael is now sick and Daniel isn't fully out of the woods. I do not feel guilty at all. The three of us have a pajama day and we lay on the couch and watch brand new DVDs. By 5pm, they are fighting and I know they are on the mend.
As for my job, I know longer feel bad. Actually, I feel a little relieved. In the end, she did me a favor because now I don't have to agonize about quitting, which is what probably would have happened. Just as her mother is her priority, my children are my priority. First and foremost. I went against my instinct and went to work when I wanted to stay home and tend to them. That will not happen again.
Losing my job could not have happened at a worse time in my life. But I really want to be with my boys. There's a saying that whenever a door closes, a window opens up. Well, the doors are closing left and right lately. And nothing has opened up but I'm optimistic. I'll even settle for a crack in the wall.
In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be home with my boys.
A mother understands what a child does not say.
A Jewish proverb
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Truth and Consequences
For the past two days, I've struggled with this blog.
I am where I am today because of choices that I've made previously. And as indicated by the big mess I find myself in, I've made some doozy choices.
Thursday and the first half of Friday were a day and a half of bad choices. Already. Only ten days into my project and I've fallen down. In 36 hours, I managed to down 2 family sized Galaxy bars, 2 brownies and 2 rock scones.
By Friday afternoon, I had to pull myself together, not out of any sense of honor or responsibility to myself, but for the mere fact that I had paid a price. And it was a high one.
The previous Monday, after an outpatient endoscopy (they put a tube with a camera down your throat to look at your esophagus and stomach), the surgeon informed me that my stomach was so inflammed that it was the start of an ulcer. Now I realize that the stress in my life is one factor, but really, all the chocolate I've consumed in the past year as everything went pear shaped in my life has probably been a major contribution to my stomach problems. I've gone past the heartburn, drink the Gaviscon phase, now it's all out substernal pain immediately after eating chocolate or anything else that doesn't agree with me.
If that wasn't enough, my doctor advised me to take Xenical, a drug that absorbs the fat from each meal. I take it simply for its deterrent factor. You're supposed to eat low fat. But if you eat too much fat you get something like Montezuma's revenge. In spades. All I'll say is that it wasn't pretty.
It's amazing how cavalier you can be toward your health when you're younger. Bad habits take a long time to manifest as serious health problems. But we're there. Now.
This is the point where I usually drop off the radar. This was almost the shortest lived blog on the internet. Too ashamed to admit that I 'cheated' or failed, it would have been easier to just disappear and slip into a chocolate and carb induced fugue.
But I can't.
The problem -and maybe it's not a problem- is that I'm always banging on about telling the truth and taking the consequences, no matter how painful. One thing I can't abide is dishonesty and deceit.
So yesterday morning, when I went for my physical therapy- for a knee that eventually needs to be replaced-I was honest when she asked if I had been doing the exercises. Nope. Started well- did them for the first 10 days and that too fell by the wayside. The PT took it in stride and reviewed them with me and we'll give it one more try.
The other thing is that I don't want to let myself down. Or my family and friends. I owe this to myself.
This morning, I did my knee exercises and ate my oatmeal, skipping the Cookie Crisp(I love kids' cereal).
I've picked myself up, brushed myself off and I'm moving on.
If you say, 'I want but I can't have'- you will suffer
If you say, 'I can have but don't want to'- you won't suffer.
Jason Vale
I am where I am today because of choices that I've made previously. And as indicated by the big mess I find myself in, I've made some doozy choices.
Thursday and the first half of Friday were a day and a half of bad choices. Already. Only ten days into my project and I've fallen down. In 36 hours, I managed to down 2 family sized Galaxy bars, 2 brownies and 2 rock scones.
By Friday afternoon, I had to pull myself together, not out of any sense of honor or responsibility to myself, but for the mere fact that I had paid a price. And it was a high one.
The previous Monday, after an outpatient endoscopy (they put a tube with a camera down your throat to look at your esophagus and stomach), the surgeon informed me that my stomach was so inflammed that it was the start of an ulcer. Now I realize that the stress in my life is one factor, but really, all the chocolate I've consumed in the past year as everything went pear shaped in my life has probably been a major contribution to my stomach problems. I've gone past the heartburn, drink the Gaviscon phase, now it's all out substernal pain immediately after eating chocolate or anything else that doesn't agree with me.
If that wasn't enough, my doctor advised me to take Xenical, a drug that absorbs the fat from each meal. I take it simply for its deterrent factor. You're supposed to eat low fat. But if you eat too much fat you get something like Montezuma's revenge. In spades. All I'll say is that it wasn't pretty.
It's amazing how cavalier you can be toward your health when you're younger. Bad habits take a long time to manifest as serious health problems. But we're there. Now.
This is the point where I usually drop off the radar. This was almost the shortest lived blog on the internet. Too ashamed to admit that I 'cheated' or failed, it would have been easier to just disappear and slip into a chocolate and carb induced fugue.
But I can't.
The problem -and maybe it's not a problem- is that I'm always banging on about telling the truth and taking the consequences, no matter how painful. One thing I can't abide is dishonesty and deceit.
So yesterday morning, when I went for my physical therapy- for a knee that eventually needs to be replaced-I was honest when she asked if I had been doing the exercises. Nope. Started well- did them for the first 10 days and that too fell by the wayside. The PT took it in stride and reviewed them with me and we'll give it one more try.
The other thing is that I don't want to let myself down. Or my family and friends. I owe this to myself.
This morning, I did my knee exercises and ate my oatmeal, skipping the Cookie Crisp(I love kids' cereal).
I've picked myself up, brushed myself off and I'm moving on.
If you say, 'I want but I can't have'- you will suffer
If you say, 'I can have but don't want to'- you won't suffer.
Jason Vale
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Good Morning, Starshine
My grandmother died six weeks before my eighth birthday.
It was a crisp, sunny winter day. Looking out the front window, I saw my Aunt Sis’ yellow Chevy Nova parked out front. It was then that I knew something was up. Back in my room with its red carpet and red and white wallpaper, my father told me that Gramma Roberts had died earlier that morning. I flung my arms around his waist and cried. I still remember the pink nightgown with its quilted top that I wore that morning.
My grandparents had moved into the upstairs flat from us when I was about four or five. They were both an integral part of our growing up. A child’s natural ally is the grandparent. She was that and so much more. Despite the fact that I was so young when she died, the memories, feelings and impressions that I have of her are too numerous to mention. And I choose to be selfish and keep most of them to myself so as not to dilute the memory.
At five, I had the bright idea that I wanted a bra. She was a good sport and went into the other room and brought out one of hers. I remember holding it up, probably a double E or something, white, with about 6 hooks or so. It was not what I had had in mind.
We watched the Miss America pageant on her black and white TV one night in bed. I was 5 or 6.
She shined my shoes with butter. They were really shiny until the dog started chasing me around and licking my shoes.
After swinging my lunchbox around one day, it fell (of course) and the thermos inside shattered (the insides were made of glass). I was terrified to tell my mother. So I went to my grandmother. Sitting in her lap, I told her what had happened and she told me not to worry. She bought me a new one.
During the last year of her life, when she was sick, she was in and out of the hospital. One time, my Uncle Slick snuck the five of us up the back staircase of the hospital to see her. She was in the bed and she reached out for my youngest brother, Mark who was a baby at the time. He was strange and started crying. I said to him, “Mark, it’s Gramma Roberts.” I couldn't understand how he could be afraid of her.
In the fall of 1973, an ambulance brought her home from the hospital to die. Her bed was brought out to the living room of their flat. I’d go up to visit and show her my school papers, but she was no longer the Gramma that I knew. I’d be sent back downstairs and as I'd stand on the upstairs landing, their door, which was always open, would close behind me.
I have tangible things of hers. Her beautiful mahogany cedar chest. The afghan on my bed which she crocheted almost 40 years ago. The boys know that Gramma Aggie made that blanket. The little glass bird in my cabinet. Originally a perfume bottle from Avon, she emptied the perfume and put colored water in it and gave it to me.
Like me, she was low to the ground, wide and loved her food. As I grew up without her, I wanted to be like her, for her capacity to love and forgive knew no bounds. For many years after her death, family members cried openly over her without embarrassment.
Our paths crossed briefly, yet the mark she left on my life was profound, long lasting and far reaching. After her death, I thought about her all the time and dreamt of her regularly well into my twenties. As I near towards a fourth decade without her, I let those memories of her, glorious in detail, impressions and feelings of love, comfort me. I’ll think of her and memories come flooding back and the years in between melt away like snow in the spring.
I told my mother once that every time I heard the song, ‘Good Morning, Starshine,’ my grandmother came to mind. My mother said it was probably because that summer of 1970? 1971? when we were all out at the cottage in Sunset Bay that song was played on the radio all the time. Funny, but I heard it here on the radio in Ireland the other day. I hadn’t heard it in years. I’ve been dreaming of her a lot lately as my marriage dissolves around me. After all this time, she’s still close by.
Till we meet again.
Agnes O’Hara Roberts
March 9, 1907- December 2, 1973
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
From Oh breathe not his Name
Thomas Moore
It was a crisp, sunny winter day. Looking out the front window, I saw my Aunt Sis’ yellow Chevy Nova parked out front. It was then that I knew something was up. Back in my room with its red carpet and red and white wallpaper, my father told me that Gramma Roberts had died earlier that morning. I flung my arms around his waist and cried. I still remember the pink nightgown with its quilted top that I wore that morning.
My grandparents had moved into the upstairs flat from us when I was about four or five. They were both an integral part of our growing up. A child’s natural ally is the grandparent. She was that and so much more. Despite the fact that I was so young when she died, the memories, feelings and impressions that I have of her are too numerous to mention. And I choose to be selfish and keep most of them to myself so as not to dilute the memory.
At five, I had the bright idea that I wanted a bra. She was a good sport and went into the other room and brought out one of hers. I remember holding it up, probably a double E or something, white, with about 6 hooks or so. It was not what I had had in mind.
We watched the Miss America pageant on her black and white TV one night in bed. I was 5 or 6.
She shined my shoes with butter. They were really shiny until the dog started chasing me around and licking my shoes.
After swinging my lunchbox around one day, it fell (of course) and the thermos inside shattered (the insides were made of glass). I was terrified to tell my mother. So I went to my grandmother. Sitting in her lap, I told her what had happened and she told me not to worry. She bought me a new one.
During the last year of her life, when she was sick, she was in and out of the hospital. One time, my Uncle Slick snuck the five of us up the back staircase of the hospital to see her. She was in the bed and she reached out for my youngest brother, Mark who was a baby at the time. He was strange and started crying. I said to him, “Mark, it’s Gramma Roberts.” I couldn't understand how he could be afraid of her.
In the fall of 1973, an ambulance brought her home from the hospital to die. Her bed was brought out to the living room of their flat. I’d go up to visit and show her my school papers, but she was no longer the Gramma that I knew. I’d be sent back downstairs and as I'd stand on the upstairs landing, their door, which was always open, would close behind me.
I have tangible things of hers. Her beautiful mahogany cedar chest. The afghan on my bed which she crocheted almost 40 years ago. The boys know that Gramma Aggie made that blanket. The little glass bird in my cabinet. Originally a perfume bottle from Avon, she emptied the perfume and put colored water in it and gave it to me.
Like me, she was low to the ground, wide and loved her food. As I grew up without her, I wanted to be like her, for her capacity to love and forgive knew no bounds. For many years after her death, family members cried openly over her without embarrassment.
Our paths crossed briefly, yet the mark she left on my life was profound, long lasting and far reaching. After her death, I thought about her all the time and dreamt of her regularly well into my twenties. As I near towards a fourth decade without her, I let those memories of her, glorious in detail, impressions and feelings of love, comfort me. I’ll think of her and memories come flooding back and the years in between melt away like snow in the spring.
I told my mother once that every time I heard the song, ‘Good Morning, Starshine,’ my grandmother came to mind. My mother said it was probably because that summer of 1970? 1971? when we were all out at the cottage in Sunset Bay that song was played on the radio all the time. Funny, but I heard it here on the radio in Ireland the other day. I hadn’t heard it in years. I’ve been dreaming of her a lot lately as my marriage dissolves around me. After all this time, she’s still close by.
Till we meet again.
Agnes O’Hara Roberts
March 9, 1907- December 2, 1973
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.
From Oh breathe not his Name
Thomas Moore
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Wanted: A Healthy Lifestyle. No Diets Need Apply.
In 1983, at the age of 17, I started my first 'official' diet. I joined Nutri-System and ate their prepackaged food and drinks. I went from 162 lbs down to 140. To think that I thought I was 'fat' at 162!
That diet started me on the long and tortuous road of yo-yo dieting: lose 20lbs and gain back 30. That was par for the course.
I've been to Weight Watchers so many times in both the US and Ireland I think I should get some kind of medal. I belonged before there were points. However, I must admit that I was delighted with the points system. The more I weighed, the more points I was allowed and the more food I could eat. It was a perverse bonus.
In 1988 and 2005, I tried the Medifast diet. A doctor supervised liquid fast where you only drank fortified shakes. I lasted one month. It was deprivation on a grand scale.
1987 found my friend Georgette and I in some doctor's office on Niagara St. on the west side of Buffalo. I jumped on the scale and he barely looked at me as he wrote out a prescription for amphetamines. That lasted for a few days until I passed out one morning in the bathroom.
In 1992, I joined WW again for the umpteenth time and lost 75lbs in 6 months. It boomeranged back over the following years.
In the summer of 2000, I read a book, The Carbohydrate Addict's Book and loved it. A precursor to the low carb diets, I lost 35 lbs on that one. The premise was to eat no/low carb all day except for one hour and then you could add a small amount of good carbs. But only in that hour. You can see how easily that one spiralled out of control. I went from adding a roll at dinner to 'Oh my God! I've only got 5 minutes left to eat this chocolate cake, bag of Doritos...." That weight plus more came back on, too.
The idea of 'Fruit til Five' came from my Dad and my brother. It had worked for them so I figured how hard could it be? You were only supposed to eat fruit all day and then have your regular dinner at 5pm. That soon deteriorated to fruit til five and 3 meals and 3 snacks from 5pm-11pm.
The cabbage soup diet was interesting. A better name would have been 'colon blow.'
There was the 3 day diet of peanut butter, grapefruit, eggs, hot dogs and bananas.
Clearly, diets don't work for me. My bookshelves are sagging from the weight of all the diet books. I've read them all, but there are too many choices. My head spins at all the options out there and which one might be best for me.
In 1985, at 181 lbs., I bought a Huffy stationery bike from Twin Fair. I rode it regularly and got my weight down to 158. No diet. I watched what I ate but I didn't deprive myself. That went well until the chain fell off the bike and Twin Fair was closed by this time.
Again in the fall of 1994, living with my parents, I brushed the dust off my Dad's Nordic Track and lost 20 lbs. over 3 months. Again no diet, but I was careful of what I ate. Nordic Track is now out of business.
A revelation occurs to me as I write this. Obviously, diets don't work for me. But the exercise sure does. It's a shame that the equipment doesn't last.
But as my sister, Jen, says: baby steps. It's certainly not going to be fixed overnight. I'm not interested in any diet out there. I'm interested in a permanent lifestyle change. So, I've cut out the 2-3 family size Galaxy bars that I used to eat daily. I've stopped eating in between meals. It's hard, but then anything worth having is worth fighting for.
We only do well the things we like doing
Colette
That diet started me on the long and tortuous road of yo-yo dieting: lose 20lbs and gain back 30. That was par for the course.
I've been to Weight Watchers so many times in both the US and Ireland I think I should get some kind of medal. I belonged before there were points. However, I must admit that I was delighted with the points system. The more I weighed, the more points I was allowed and the more food I could eat. It was a perverse bonus.
In 1988 and 2005, I tried the Medifast diet. A doctor supervised liquid fast where you only drank fortified shakes. I lasted one month. It was deprivation on a grand scale.
1987 found my friend Georgette and I in some doctor's office on Niagara St. on the west side of Buffalo. I jumped on the scale and he barely looked at me as he wrote out a prescription for amphetamines. That lasted for a few days until I passed out one morning in the bathroom.
In 1992, I joined WW again for the umpteenth time and lost 75lbs in 6 months. It boomeranged back over the following years.
In the summer of 2000, I read a book, The Carbohydrate Addict's Book and loved it. A precursor to the low carb diets, I lost 35 lbs on that one. The premise was to eat no/low carb all day except for one hour and then you could add a small amount of good carbs. But only in that hour. You can see how easily that one spiralled out of control. I went from adding a roll at dinner to 'Oh my God! I've only got 5 minutes left to eat this chocolate cake, bag of Doritos...." That weight plus more came back on, too.
The idea of 'Fruit til Five' came from my Dad and my brother. It had worked for them so I figured how hard could it be? You were only supposed to eat fruit all day and then have your regular dinner at 5pm. That soon deteriorated to fruit til five and 3 meals and 3 snacks from 5pm-11pm.
The cabbage soup diet was interesting. A better name would have been 'colon blow.'
There was the 3 day diet of peanut butter, grapefruit, eggs, hot dogs and bananas.
Clearly, diets don't work for me. My bookshelves are sagging from the weight of all the diet books. I've read them all, but there are too many choices. My head spins at all the options out there and which one might be best for me.
In 1985, at 181 lbs., I bought a Huffy stationery bike from Twin Fair. I rode it regularly and got my weight down to 158. No diet. I watched what I ate but I didn't deprive myself. That went well until the chain fell off the bike and Twin Fair was closed by this time.
Again in the fall of 1994, living with my parents, I brushed the dust off my Dad's Nordic Track and lost 20 lbs. over 3 months. Again no diet, but I was careful of what I ate. Nordic Track is now out of business.
A revelation occurs to me as I write this. Obviously, diets don't work for me. But the exercise sure does. It's a shame that the equipment doesn't last.
But as my sister, Jen, says: baby steps. It's certainly not going to be fixed overnight. I'm not interested in any diet out there. I'm interested in a permanent lifestyle change. So, I've cut out the 2-3 family size Galaxy bars that I used to eat daily. I've stopped eating in between meals. It's hard, but then anything worth having is worth fighting for.
We only do well the things we like doing
Colette
Saturday, November 28, 2009
No Place to Hide
As much as I want to, there is no place to hide when you're a fat woman in a thin world. Unless I become a recluse -and there's always hope as my great aunt Dolly was-there is always someplace to go.
There'll be a family wedding where I have to turn myself into a contortionist just to wrestle on a pair of pantyhose. If I go to a party, I get palpitations if I see folding, wooden chairs. I'm only asking for trouble there. I'm never fashionably late, I'm always unreasonably early as I want to get the best seat. And by that I mean something very sturdy where I can safely camp out. Every venture into public is an anxiety inducing affair as I have to be diligent about where my body is in relation to my surrounding environment.
Unlike other addictions, mine is there for the whole world to see. A stranger, at a passing glance, knows that I have a dysfunctional relationship with food. Food has been my constant companion for the last thirty years, through good times and bad. One bite is a whisper urging me on to have more.
It has crept insidiously into my life and affected every aspect of my life to the point that I know longer recognize myself. The person that I want to be and the person that I currently am are at opposite ends of the spectrum.
When I read these words that I've written, it makes me angry- for it is no way to live.
Today was a good day. I made healthy choices. But it wasn't easy. The temptation to comfort myself is always there and it is strong. I can't take it one day at a time for the day stretches out too long before me. It's easier to take it one meal at a time.
Every evening, I used to have for my 10pm snack a rock scone, a family sized Galaxy bar and a large cup of tea. Then I'd wash it down with some Gaviscon. Tonight, I juiced some fruit (I do love my juicer) and then I heated it up, because I do like a hot drink. And I love mulled wine. It was lovely and I bet I won't have to swig Gaviscon tonight.
When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hold on a minute longer, never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.
Harriet Beecher Stowe
There'll be a family wedding where I have to turn myself into a contortionist just to wrestle on a pair of pantyhose. If I go to a party, I get palpitations if I see folding, wooden chairs. I'm only asking for trouble there. I'm never fashionably late, I'm always unreasonably early as I want to get the best seat. And by that I mean something very sturdy where I can safely camp out. Every venture into public is an anxiety inducing affair as I have to be diligent about where my body is in relation to my surrounding environment.
Unlike other addictions, mine is there for the whole world to see. A stranger, at a passing glance, knows that I have a dysfunctional relationship with food. Food has been my constant companion for the last thirty years, through good times and bad. One bite is a whisper urging me on to have more.
It has crept insidiously into my life and affected every aspect of my life to the point that I know longer recognize myself. The person that I want to be and the person that I currently am are at opposite ends of the spectrum.
When I read these words that I've written, it makes me angry- for it is no way to live.
Today was a good day. I made healthy choices. But it wasn't easy. The temptation to comfort myself is always there and it is strong. I can't take it one day at a time for the day stretches out too long before me. It's easier to take it one meal at a time.
Every evening, I used to have for my 10pm snack a rock scone, a family sized Galaxy bar and a large cup of tea. Then I'd wash it down with some Gaviscon. Tonight, I juiced some fruit (I do love my juicer) and then I heated it up, because I do like a hot drink. And I love mulled wine. It was lovely and I bet I won't have to swig Gaviscon tonight.
When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hold on a minute longer, never give up, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving
Well, it's official. I've entered the world of blogging.
As the end of 2009 draws near (thank God), I've taken a deep breath and decided to shed the biggest thing in my life that are definitely holding me back.
My weight.
There is just no way around the fact that I need to do something about my weight, as evidenced by the following:
-I hang my underwear on the clothesline and it causes a solar eclipse
-I'm in one room of the house and my a** is another
-the 95 year old woman that I look after says things like this: "I hope that I go before you do."
I own my weight problem.
I'll put a disclaimer out right now: I, and only I, am responsible for my current predicament which has taken many forms and sizes, but mostly big and round. I didn't have a miserable childhood. It's not in my genes. No one held a gun to my head and forced me to eat all those Galaxy bars. This leads me to Disclaimer #1, subsection A: I am not responsible for plummeting stock prices of the Mars candy company from this day forward.
'Nuff said.
So, I'm going to do something that absolutely mortifies me. I'm going to blog about my efforts to get fit and thin. I'm going to make myself accountable and put my weight out there into the very public domain of the Internet. I think they call this aversion therapy. I'll write the actual number in pounds, stone and kilograms or atomic mass if need be. This number has been more closely guarded than the third Fatima secret.
It's either go public or have the gastric bypass surgery, which involves sipping my meals through a straw for the first month post op.
So here it is:
315 pounds
22.5 stone
142.8 kg
Yes, those numbers are correct.
Terrible, I know. What happened to me that I let it get that out of control?
As of right now, I'm going to fix this. This interferes too much with my current life and the life that I dream of leading. This is going to be my number one priority: my health.
Today is the 26th. On the 26th of every month, I'll post my weight.
Quote of the day:
One should never trust a woman who tells her real age. If she tells that, she'll tell anything.
Oscar Wilde
Oh, by the way, I'm 43.
As the end of 2009 draws near (thank God), I've taken a deep breath and decided to shed the biggest thing in my life that are definitely holding me back.
My weight.
There is just no way around the fact that I need to do something about my weight, as evidenced by the following:
-I hang my underwear on the clothesline and it causes a solar eclipse
-I'm in one room of the house and my a** is another
-the 95 year old woman that I look after says things like this: "I hope that I go before you do."
I own my weight problem.
I'll put a disclaimer out right now: I, and only I, am responsible for my current predicament which has taken many forms and sizes, but mostly big and round. I didn't have a miserable childhood. It's not in my genes. No one held a gun to my head and forced me to eat all those Galaxy bars. This leads me to Disclaimer #1, subsection A: I am not responsible for plummeting stock prices of the Mars candy company from this day forward.
'Nuff said.
So, I'm going to do something that absolutely mortifies me. I'm going to blog about my efforts to get fit and thin. I'm going to make myself accountable and put my weight out there into the very public domain of the Internet. I think they call this aversion therapy. I'll write the actual number in pounds, stone and kilograms or atomic mass if need be. This number has been more closely guarded than the third Fatima secret.
It's either go public or have the gastric bypass surgery, which involves sipping my meals through a straw for the first month post op.
So here it is:
315 pounds
22.5 stone
142.8 kg
Yes, those numbers are correct.
Terrible, I know. What happened to me that I let it get that out of control?
As of right now, I'm going to fix this. This interferes too much with my current life and the life that I dream of leading. This is going to be my number one priority: my health.
Today is the 26th. On the 26th of every month, I'll post my weight.
Quote of the day:
One should never trust a woman who tells her real age. If she tells that, she'll tell anything.
Oscar Wilde
Oh, by the way, I'm 43.
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