I’ve been thinking a lot about my weight. I’m not happy about how many pants I have that don’t fit.
There’s a huge divide between thinking about what I should do and doing it. Eating feels so much better than not eating at any given time. Dieting is denying myself what would make me feel better at all times during the day. Food is available to me all day. It’s not like I just have to push myself away from the dinner table at the proper moment. It’s an all-day every-day denial of pleasure.
Holy crap. If you put it THAT way, then forget it.
I’ll just keep eating and spend all day, every day wishing my pants weren’t so tight and that my tummy didn’t pooch out a little, even when I’m lying on my back in bed, obsessing over it.
Hey, waaaait a minute. That doesn’t sound better at all.
I wish there was an actual “one weird old trick” that would make your tummy pooch go away, like those internet site ads always promise. I’ve never clicked on one because I’m not a dummy, but I’m still curious. Or want to believe. Kind of like religion.
Drew and I are thinking of trying a weird trick: cut out sugar. You’re right - that’s not weird, and it’s not a trick. It’s just wise eating. Sugar is full of empty calories, sends my blood sugar on a flight and then a steep dive, and increases LDL cholesterol and triglycerides.
If you don’t count chocolate, I’m not a big fan of sweets. But that’s like saying, “if you don’t count my driving my car every day, I’m not much of a gasoline consumer.”
Well, yes, I’m baking cookies right now, but it’s leftover dough from the other day that was sitting in the fridge. You wouldn’t expect me to toss that out, would you? Be real. It’s oatmeal chocolate chip.