01/13/2011
283.4 lbs
I have a feeling I'm really going to hate that I've been guessing all week.
So, I'm 35. I don't look it, actually most people are shocked when they find out. I'm usually guessed at about 26-29. Although, I really don't believe the people who say 26, I do so LOVE the people who say 29. Hell, Even the ones that guess 32. I believe it's because #1 I've got a full face and full faces don't show wrinkles, and #2 I don't wear foundation. I use liquid eyeliner for my top lids, blush and lipstick. When I go out, I use mineral make-up and eyeshadow. And I try to moisturize regularly. But I don't drink enough water. I should work on that.
So ok. I really do have a point. I'm 35. I had an unhappy "who-who" in November. I was wondering if it was possible to catch some sexually transmitted disease through texting [refer to yesterday's LDL post ;-) ]when I went to visit a new g-y-n because weird things were happening in the below-the-belt area. Doc said I had an estrogen shortage. She gave me these little pills of estrogen to take for two weeks. They came preloaded in a pill injector. Yeah. I didn't take these orally. It was a weird experience.
So, I'm 35 and I have this thing called PCOS. I was diagnosed with it a few years ago. A lot of heavy girls are diagnosed with this. It gives you hair in places you don't want (and I've got an ethnically diverse background, this happens already), makes it difficult for pregnancy (not really an issue for me, per say), and means that hormones are hokey. I've also had an irregular cycle (read as nearly non-existent) all my life. With one exception: When I'm on Birth Control. Which was from about 21-27 years of age. I smoked then and wasn't too concerned because the "you shouldn't smoke while taking The Pill...Especially women over 35" didn't apply to me. It was so far away. 35 that is.
So that brings me back to my point. I'm 35. I've been placed back on The Pill. Doc did it to regulate me (turns out the thickening of your uterine lining greatly increases your chances for all sorts of cancers) and balance out my hormones which will help with the PCOS. She did this to me on November 28. About 3 hours after leaving her office, she calls me. Here's the conversation.
DOC: "I use my lunch time to review the charts of my new patients. I see you're 35." -No. Shit.- "It says here you smoke." -She called me just for this?- "You can't smoke and take The Pill." -Damn my honesty on my new patient forms!- "The risks for a stroke or heart attack are too high."
ME: "But I only smoke, like, 4 or 5 cigarettes a day. A pack can almost last me a week!" Desparation is really starting to set in.
DOC: "It's smoking. There's really no safe level. Especially on The Pill. You're 35." -I heard that the first time.- "You need to make a decision."
I like her and hate her all at the same time. I tell her that since it's only "a few a day", it shouldn't be a big deal to quit. It's a nasty habit with no redeeming qualities. A guilty pleasure whose guilt should outweigh the pleasure. Blah. Blah. Blah. So. Ok. I'm going to quit. Again. :-|
I've got a Pharmacist in the family. I ask her and every other Pharmacist I meet about this whole smoking and The Pill thing. Surely one every now and then would be ok. A little snack once in awhile shouldn't hurt.
The answer is always the same. "It's not recommended, especially for women your age." Bastards.
It's been a process through the Holiday Merriment. I made a solid commitment on January 3rd and haven't smoked once since the 4th. So, I'm on day 10 of smoke-free living. Go Me! I traded smoking for bleeding and wacked emotions on a monthly basis. On a good note, taking The Pill has made my boobs bigger. I don't remember that happening the first time around.
Oh. Doc ends the conversation like this.
DOC: "I'm scheduling you for a mamogram. It's time you get one. You're 35."
-Bitch.-
-jafg
Showing posts with label My Habit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Habit. Show all posts
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
Oh. Fudge.
12/20/2010
281.4 lbs
I didn't want to weigh this morning, but I did it anyway. For the sake of the Blog.
Thursday night I made a chicken casserole. I had it at a Christmas dinner earlier this month and decided to make it for dinner myself. It's pretty basic. Chicken, campbell's soup, sour cream, and crushed crackers on top. And a stick of butter. Yeah, a whole stick. Well, I substituted panko bread crumbs for the crackers cause I didn't have any Ritz on hand. I looked at the "1 stick of butter" several times trying to figure out what to do about it. I then decided to use less-than-a-whole-but-more-than-a-half-a-stick of butter. I melted it, poured it on and baked the dish in the oven. Two hours later, after eating said casserole, I was miserable to say the least. I stayed home on Friday with a still upset tummy.
This also leads to the feeling of guilt (which I've had more than a few times lately) about my eating habits. I equate it to quitting smoking. When I fail to resist the urge to smoke, I feel really bad about it later--and sometimes while I'm doing it--because it's bad for me. There are no redeeming qualities. None. Not one thing about smoking a cigarette is good. But, I do enjoy it. Love it, even, when the circumstances are right. Granted, the enjoyment is fewer and farther between times and I really don't like the idea of smoking stone cold sober (stress is still a HUGE trigger though) but the fact remains, I enjoy a good smoke like I enjoy a good glass of wine. Or Jack and Coke.
My point with all this is unhealthy eating (like NEARLY a stick of butter in a recipe) is so totally ungood. No redeeming qualities. Nothing good can come from it. Thus the Friday ick-fest. This also takes it's toll mentally. I'm left alone and to my own devices to obsess over what I've done and whatnot. Anyway, it can leave a person in a rather insecure state of mind.
This all leads up to a party Saturday night. SAG (that's Skinny Athletic Girl just as a reminder) and I are going to this shindig together. We decide that if it's a bust, we'll head out on the town. No worries. Well, it's a bizzare group of people and tons of free good booze. So, we stay. Bonus, there's a boy here that I find mentally stimulating. He's very much an adult and easy to converse with and makes a hell of a drink. Laid back, educated, funny, basically, someone either to spend a "safer" fun-filled night with (don't judge!) or consider expanding to a more regular friend thing and possibly connect on facebook. That's what you do these days, btw. You friend people. You don't exchange numbers. It's hard to get used to.
As you may already know, I'm certainly not a wall flower. I'm a confident 30something woman. My size very rarely is a thought in my mind when I'm out on a town and meeting people. Never has been. (Online dating is a whole other topic all together and one we'll discuss at a different time). Remember, though, I'm still fighting a few fresh food demons here.
So, I'm talking with Mr. Potential all night, floating back and forth among the guests who aren't necessarily people that I'd be around regularly but still having a good time. Yes, I may be a bit of a snob, but seriously, who isn't? As the night progresses, things get weird. People are drinking more and well, I realize that the folks I do know are dwindling. SAG has gone to a show and I decided to stay (let's face it, because of Mr. Potential) and continue with the merriment. Before I know it, the hostess is making out with another chick and a male gay couple inform me they like taking women to bed.
W. T. F. I should leave, but for whatever lack-of-judgement reason I do not.
Let me state here that whatever someone's preferences are or are not when it comes to bedroom, does not bother me. Truly. However, I was not prepared for where this party was heading. There's no judgement here, but it was a freakin "Christmas Party"! None of the Christmas parties I've ever attended have ended up like this.
I decide to go outside, smoke a cigarette with Mr. Potential (I've been drinking) and down a shot of tequilla (I've been drinking). Tequilla is never a good thing. I still don't know how I got the shot in the first place. Then, a 6-foot Amazonian 23-year-old comes outside and starts talking about ulcers and migranes. I have a tendancy to give free advice even in my most sober of states. This night was not one of those states. I try to coherently tell her she's way to young to have migranes and ulcers and she tells me it's because she had gastric bypass surgery at 17. She says this like three times before it hits me. "17?!" I say, (again, standing next to Mr. Potential) "17! she says and then procedes with this statement: "I can tell that you're overweight...".
She said some other things after that, but I don't recall actually hearing the words.
Let me let you know how this went down in my head. Have you seen "The Christmas Story"? Remember the scene with the flat tire and Ralphie gets to be a big boy and help his dad change it? And he somehow drops all the lugnuts and also drops the f-bomb "Oh Fudge" line? Well, that slo-mo-drawn-out-hyper-pronounced speaking is how it sounded in my head when I hear the "you're overwieght" part from 23YO Glamazon Chick. To say awkward is an understatement. I'm maintaining my composure, actually trying to sustain the conversation like it's not a big deal, and about 1 minute later, Mr. Potential wanders back inside and I drink more. Like any sensible girl would. Oy. Vey.
I am now so far out of my comfort zone. Straight people are gay. Gay people are straight. And I've been pronounced "overweight" by a 23YO Glamazon in front of Mr. Potential. Bye Bye Healthy Ego. I'm reeling inside. My emotional pshyche is in a tailspin. My head may even be spinning a little from the whole adult beverages thing, as well. And then, the tequilla shot kicks in. Needless to say, tequilla jafg isn't a pretty jafg. She's mean. And now that she feels exposed/rejected, she's on a warpath.
Here's the deal, when you're drunk you make an ass out of yourself. Sometimes, it's remembered as the life of the party, and other times it's remembered as "that crazy chick last night". It's going to end one way or the other. Trust me, this comes from years of experience. I usually stay on the side of life of the party. I'm proficient enough in my 30something years to know where the line is between the two. Well. Saturday night, I crossed it.
I can't really bare re-living the humiliation of the rest of the evening which lasted about 20 more minutes. There were some inappropriate comments I make to The Man Formerly Known as Mr. Potential which led to overheard inappropriate comments and then I left. What the FUDGE was I thinking? I wasn't. I was hurt, embarrassed and wanting to pick a fight. The last part can be partially blamed on the environment and on the tequilla. But, Holy Crazy Parties, I was so not prepared for that evening.
Look, I have tough skin and have dealt with emotional blows enough that I can somewhat quickly recover; or successfully compartmentalize, anyway. Humiliation, either self inflicted or from external sources, isn't easy to admit. I'm trying to find something funny about all this, but really, right now, I can't. I'm a grown-up. I've put my "big girl panties" on so to speak [which really takes on a whole new meaning in this context] and moved forward and won't be attending any more events at that house again. But I'm still licking my wounds.
Thanks for listening. I can't say that I really feel better, but at least I got a blog post out of it.
Also, Mr. Potenial will forevermore be referred to as Mr. Douche.
-jafg
281.4 lbs
I didn't want to weigh this morning, but I did it anyway. For the sake of the Blog.
Thursday night I made a chicken casserole. I had it at a Christmas dinner earlier this month and decided to make it for dinner myself. It's pretty basic. Chicken, campbell's soup, sour cream, and crushed crackers on top. And a stick of butter. Yeah, a whole stick. Well, I substituted panko bread crumbs for the crackers cause I didn't have any Ritz on hand. I looked at the "1 stick of butter" several times trying to figure out what to do about it. I then decided to use less-than-a-whole-but-more-than-a-half-a-stick of butter. I melted it, poured it on and baked the dish in the oven. Two hours later, after eating said casserole, I was miserable to say the least. I stayed home on Friday with a still upset tummy.
This also leads to the feeling of guilt (which I've had more than a few times lately) about my eating habits. I equate it to quitting smoking. When I fail to resist the urge to smoke, I feel really bad about it later--and sometimes while I'm doing it--because it's bad for me. There are no redeeming qualities. None. Not one thing about smoking a cigarette is good. But, I do enjoy it. Love it, even, when the circumstances are right. Granted, the enjoyment is fewer and farther between times and I really don't like the idea of smoking stone cold sober (stress is still a HUGE trigger though) but the fact remains, I enjoy a good smoke like I enjoy a good glass of wine. Or Jack and Coke.
My point with all this is unhealthy eating (like NEARLY a stick of butter in a recipe) is so totally ungood. No redeeming qualities. Nothing good can come from it. Thus the Friday ick-fest. This also takes it's toll mentally. I'm left alone and to my own devices to obsess over what I've done and whatnot. Anyway, it can leave a person in a rather insecure state of mind.
This all leads up to a party Saturday night. SAG (that's Skinny Athletic Girl just as a reminder) and I are going to this shindig together. We decide that if it's a bust, we'll head out on the town. No worries. Well, it's a bizzare group of people and tons of free good booze. So, we stay. Bonus, there's a boy here that I find mentally stimulating. He's very much an adult and easy to converse with and makes a hell of a drink. Laid back, educated, funny, basically, someone either to spend a "safer" fun-filled night with (don't judge!) or consider expanding to a more regular friend thing and possibly connect on facebook. That's what you do these days, btw. You friend people. You don't exchange numbers. It's hard to get used to.
As you may already know, I'm certainly not a wall flower. I'm a confident 30something woman. My size very rarely is a thought in my mind when I'm out on a town and meeting people. Never has been. (Online dating is a whole other topic all together and one we'll discuss at a different time). Remember, though, I'm still fighting a few fresh food demons here.
So, I'm talking with Mr. Potential all night, floating back and forth among the guests who aren't necessarily people that I'd be around regularly but still having a good time. Yes, I may be a bit of a snob, but seriously, who isn't? As the night progresses, things get weird. People are drinking more and well, I realize that the folks I do know are dwindling. SAG has gone to a show and I decided to stay (let's face it, because of Mr. Potential) and continue with the merriment. Before I know it, the hostess is making out with another chick and a male gay couple inform me they like taking women to bed.
W. T. F. I should leave, but for whatever lack-of-judgement reason I do not.
Let me state here that whatever someone's preferences are or are not when it comes to bedroom, does not bother me. Truly. However, I was not prepared for where this party was heading. There's no judgement here, but it was a freakin "Christmas Party"! None of the Christmas parties I've ever attended have ended up like this.
I decide to go outside, smoke a cigarette with Mr. Potential (I've been drinking) and down a shot of tequilla (I've been drinking). Tequilla is never a good thing. I still don't know how I got the shot in the first place. Then, a 6-foot Amazonian 23-year-old comes outside and starts talking about ulcers and migranes. I have a tendancy to give free advice even in my most sober of states. This night was not one of those states. I try to coherently tell her she's way to young to have migranes and ulcers and she tells me it's because she had gastric bypass surgery at 17. She says this like three times before it hits me. "17?!" I say, (again, standing next to Mr. Potential) "17! she says and then procedes with this statement: "I can tell that you're overweight...".
She said some other things after that, but I don't recall actually hearing the words.
Let me let you know how this went down in my head. Have you seen "The Christmas Story"? Remember the scene with the flat tire and Ralphie gets to be a big boy and help his dad change it? And he somehow drops all the lugnuts and also drops the f-bomb "Oh Fudge" line? Well, that slo-mo-drawn-out-hyper-pronounced speaking is how it sounded in my head when I hear the "you're overwieght" part from 23YO Glamazon Chick. To say awkward is an understatement. I'm maintaining my composure, actually trying to sustain the conversation like it's not a big deal, and about 1 minute later, Mr. Potential wanders back inside and I drink more. Like any sensible girl would. Oy. Vey.
I am now so far out of my comfort zone. Straight people are gay. Gay people are straight. And I've been pronounced "overweight" by a 23YO Glamazon in front of Mr. Potential. Bye Bye Healthy Ego. I'm reeling inside. My emotional pshyche is in a tailspin. My head may even be spinning a little from the whole adult beverages thing, as well. And then, the tequilla shot kicks in. Needless to say, tequilla jafg isn't a pretty jafg. She's mean. And now that she feels exposed/rejected, she's on a warpath.
Here's the deal, when you're drunk you make an ass out of yourself. Sometimes, it's remembered as the life of the party, and other times it's remembered as "that crazy chick last night". It's going to end one way or the other. Trust me, this comes from years of experience. I usually stay on the side of life of the party. I'm proficient enough in my 30something years to know where the line is between the two. Well. Saturday night, I crossed it.
I can't really bare re-living the humiliation of the rest of the evening which lasted about 20 more minutes. There were some inappropriate comments I make to The Man Formerly Known as Mr. Potential which led to overheard inappropriate comments and then I left. What the FUDGE was I thinking? I wasn't. I was hurt, embarrassed and wanting to pick a fight. The last part can be partially blamed on the environment and on the tequilla. But, Holy Crazy Parties, I was so not prepared for that evening.
Look, I have tough skin and have dealt with emotional blows enough that I can somewhat quickly recover; or successfully compartmentalize, anyway. Humiliation, either self inflicted or from external sources, isn't easy to admit. I'm trying to find something funny about all this, but really, right now, I can't. I'm a grown-up. I've put my "big girl panties" on so to speak [which really takes on a whole new meaning in this context] and moved forward and won't be attending any more events at that house again. But I'm still licking my wounds.
Thanks for listening. I can't say that I really feel better, but at least I got a blog post out of it.
Also, Mr. Potenial will forevermore be referred to as Mr. Douche.
-jafg
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
What Has Happened...
06/15/10
279.2 lbs
I'm not exactly sure what's happened here. I am exactly sure that I'm none too happy about it.
You should all know by now that I am an avid stalker of Jack Sh*t. I usually talk about him fondly in passing, but today I must dedicate my blog post to his blog post What Would Happen.... Before you read further, please take a moment to read his. It's not extremely wordy so it shouldn't take too long...
Read it already? Ok, you may move forward now.
Close to this time last year, after reading this post I'd be sitting in my chair right now with a serious case of the "What If"s. Today, though, I'm not!
I've committed, I mean really committed to this weightloss journey of mine. How do I know? I know because I make decisions weekly, daily, hourly, even minute-to-minute about my health and weightloss. Sometimes, I don't make the right choices, but I recognize them now, really recognize them, and I take the opportunity to right myself when I am wrong. I realized it isn't a race. There is no finish line.
I've transitioned from the "half-hearted swipe" to an honest effort. I may struggle with 6:00am, but I know it's there now. I go to my Concierge Gym and I use my membership at The Gym with my friends. A "co-ed" gym. That I use. To workout. With boys around. I can honestly say that never and I mean NEVER in a million years would have believed that I would be working out at a gym that I was paying to use. But I do. And I'm happy about it, too.
I have traded those restaurant menus for a little healthy home cooking. I should modify this to say that, even though restaurants haven't left me, I make smarter food choices when I'm out. I think about ingredients. I think about food preparation. I thought about them before, but in a completely "I'm here to just enjoy my love of food" way. I have incorporated healthy lifestyle into my love. I also buy more fruit than I ever have before. I don't have a problem consuming veg. I do have a problem consuming fruit. So, I buy more of it. Cherries are my favorite right now. Oranges are always a stand-by. Strawberries are great too. I buy based on ingredients in products and nutrition in general. I've always "sort-of" done this, now I just always do it. Period. even my "splurges" are small serving sizes which I strictly follow. I love checking out at the grocery store now. All those imaginary eyes on everything coming out of the fat girl's basket are healthy! Not DIET-y, but HEALTH-y. Go me!
I turn off the TV or computer every so often and do my best to see just how much sweat I can wring out of my body. I found out that I love sweat. Well, sweat that I cause, anyway. I love seeing my arms glisten because I'm sweating. I know when my arms and legs sweat, I'm doing something good. There's not another feeling like it. I love that feeling of accomplishment when I leave The Gym a little sopping. Know what I mean?
I blog to truly hold myself accountable. It started as a social experiment of sorts. It really was just to record my thoughts and feelings about my love/hate relationship with the world of weight. It's grown into so much more. I love my "blog watchers". Each of you is like a member of my extended family. And just like you're part of mine, I feel like I'm part of yours. I love writing my blog, but I love reading yours, too. I don't think that one could work without the other. After all, it takes a village... :-)
I've made my story something exceptional instead of exhausting, something phenomenal instead of pedestrian, something remarkable instead of run-of-the-mill. But, you know what? It always has been.
I have cornered and killed at least one of my bad habits. And it's not easy. One bad habit gone...no exercise. That one died this year. Yea me! The big one I'm still working on, completely quit smoking. Completely. No "snacking". Ever. Such a pain in the ass.
I reached deep down and found a gear that I didn't know I even had. Um, Hello?! I posted pictures of me on the internet in my BATHING SUIT. That would definitely be a gear I didn't know I had.
If the wind could really catch my sails, am I even aware of the places I could go, the future I could make for myself? I'm not 100% sure of where I'm going to end up "docking" after this healthy trip, but I sure am enjoying the ride!
I don't take "I can't" for an answer. I stepped out of my own way and I'm moving full on ahead with my eyes wide open and limitless expectations.
This is what has happened.
This is the new me. And I'm hungry for more!
-jafg
279.2 lbs
I'm not exactly sure what's happened here. I am exactly sure that I'm none too happy about it.
You should all know by now that I am an avid stalker of Jack Sh*t. I usually talk about him fondly in passing, but today I must dedicate my blog post to his blog post What Would Happen.... Before you read further, please take a moment to read his. It's not extremely wordy so it shouldn't take too long...
Read it already? Ok, you may move forward now.
Close to this time last year, after reading this post I'd be sitting in my chair right now with a serious case of the "What If"s. Today, though, I'm not!
I've committed, I mean really committed to this weightloss journey of mine. How do I know? I know because I make decisions weekly, daily, hourly, even minute-to-minute about my health and weightloss. Sometimes, I don't make the right choices, but I recognize them now, really recognize them, and I take the opportunity to right myself when I am wrong. I realized it isn't a race. There is no finish line.
I've transitioned from the "half-hearted swipe" to an honest effort. I may struggle with 6:00am, but I know it's there now. I go to my Concierge Gym and I use my membership at The Gym with my friends. A "co-ed" gym. That I use. To workout. With boys around. I can honestly say that never and I mean NEVER in a million years would have believed that I would be working out at a gym that I was paying to use. But I do. And I'm happy about it, too.
I have traded those restaurant menus for a little healthy home cooking. I should modify this to say that, even though restaurants haven't left me, I make smarter food choices when I'm out. I think about ingredients. I think about food preparation. I thought about them before, but in a completely "I'm here to just enjoy my love of food" way. I have incorporated healthy lifestyle into my love. I also buy more fruit than I ever have before. I don't have a problem consuming veg. I do have a problem consuming fruit. So, I buy more of it. Cherries are my favorite right now. Oranges are always a stand-by. Strawberries are great too. I buy based on ingredients in products and nutrition in general. I've always "sort-of" done this, now I just always do it. Period. even my "splurges" are small serving sizes which I strictly follow. I love checking out at the grocery store now. All those imaginary eyes on everything coming out of the fat girl's basket are healthy! Not DIET-y, but HEALTH-y. Go me!
I turn off the TV or computer every so often and do my best to see just how much sweat I can wring out of my body. I found out that I love sweat. Well, sweat that I cause, anyway. I love seeing my arms glisten because I'm sweating. I know when my arms and legs sweat, I'm doing something good. There's not another feeling like it. I love that feeling of accomplishment when I leave The Gym a little sopping. Know what I mean?
I blog to truly hold myself accountable. It started as a social experiment of sorts. It really was just to record my thoughts and feelings about my love/hate relationship with the world of weight. It's grown into so much more. I love my "blog watchers". Each of you is like a member of my extended family. And just like you're part of mine, I feel like I'm part of yours. I love writing my blog, but I love reading yours, too. I don't think that one could work without the other. After all, it takes a village... :-)
I've made my story something exceptional instead of exhausting, something phenomenal instead of pedestrian, something remarkable instead of run-of-the-mill. But, you know what? It always has been.
I have cornered and killed at least one of my bad habits. And it's not easy. One bad habit gone...no exercise. That one died this year. Yea me! The big one I'm still working on, completely quit smoking. Completely. No "snacking". Ever. Such a pain in the ass.
I reached deep down and found a gear that I didn't know I even had. Um, Hello?! I posted pictures of me on the internet in my BATHING SUIT. That would definitely be a gear I didn't know I had.
If the wind could really catch my sails, am I even aware of the places I could go, the future I could make for myself? I'm not 100% sure of where I'm going to end up "docking" after this healthy trip, but I sure am enjoying the ride!
I don't take "I can't" for an answer. I stepped out of my own way and I'm moving full on ahead with my eyes wide open and limitless expectations.
This is what has happened.
This is the new me. And I'm hungry for more!
-jafg
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
8 Days: 23 Hours: 27 Minutes: 14 Seconds Ago
10/27/09
280.2 lbs
I've been sick. I had bronchitis. I had to get TWO shots in my ass: 1 shot of steriod and 1 shot of antibiotic. In addition to a pill regiment. I also had to be tested for strep and flu. This means they stick long cotton swabs down your thoat and up your nose. I'm not bitter. I am pretty excited about the weight, though. It did get as high as 284 last week, but I don't know if that really counts because it then bottomed out at the 0 and 1 mark. I'm counting it as a "holding steady" for a whole week. That kinda makes up for the shots and the swabs. Kinda.
I've got bigger news for you, though. I quit smoking! I've given you an approximation of the last time I inhaled. It's not like I'm keeping track or anything.
As I said, I've been sick. I saw the opportunity to stop something bad (since I usually only get sick sick when My Habit is in full swing) and I took it. I'm still coughing and still sound a little hoarse, but over all I'm feeling like a champ. A bit of a frustrated champ, but still, a champ.
Yes; I've quit before. This time I'm working on making it permenant. Again. Years have gone by before between cigarettes, but somehow I manage to let smoking wiggle its way back into my life. Sort of exactly like My Fat. It seems a little ridiculous to be trying to change My Fat habits and change My Habit habits at the same time; but, for some reason, my brain has decided to pair them together. Like having two things to obsess over will actually ease the burden of both. I don't get the logic, but that's what has ended up happening. We'll see how it goes.
It's been easier for me to lay My Habit aside when I'm not feeling that great. I was home all last week. Crabbiness wasn't an issue for others. I slept most of the time and the rest of the time I was laid up on the couch with Kitty watching Murder She Wrote. It's on Hallmark in the middle of the day and it's totally a guilty pleasure. I usually record it.
You can't honestly expect me to give up ALL of my vices.
-jafg
280.2 lbs
I've been sick. I had bronchitis. I had to get TWO shots in my ass: 1 shot of steriod and 1 shot of antibiotic. In addition to a pill regiment. I also had to be tested for strep and flu. This means they stick long cotton swabs down your thoat and up your nose. I'm not bitter. I am pretty excited about the weight, though. It did get as high as 284 last week, but I don't know if that really counts because it then bottomed out at the 0 and 1 mark. I'm counting it as a "holding steady" for a whole week. That kinda makes up for the shots and the swabs. Kinda.
I've got bigger news for you, though. I quit smoking! I've given you an approximation of the last time I inhaled. It's not like I'm keeping track or anything.
As I said, I've been sick. I saw the opportunity to stop something bad (since I usually only get sick sick when My Habit is in full swing) and I took it. I'm still coughing and still sound a little hoarse, but over all I'm feeling like a champ. A bit of a frustrated champ, but still, a champ.
Yes; I've quit before. This time I'm working on making it permenant. Again. Years have gone by before between cigarettes, but somehow I manage to let smoking wiggle its way back into my life. Sort of exactly like My Fat. It seems a little ridiculous to be trying to change My Fat habits and change My Habit habits at the same time; but, for some reason, my brain has decided to pair them together. Like having two things to obsess over will actually ease the burden of both. I don't get the logic, but that's what has ended up happening. We'll see how it goes.
It's been easier for me to lay My Habit aside when I'm not feeling that great. I was home all last week. Crabbiness wasn't an issue for others. I slept most of the time and the rest of the time I was laid up on the couch with Kitty watching Murder She Wrote. It's on Hallmark in the middle of the day and it's totally a guilty pleasure. I usually record it.
You can't honestly expect me to give up ALL of my vices.
-jafg
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)