I'm dieting. Sort of half-heartedly, I think, with short bouts of high determination (mostly when I see cute new clothes in catalogs and wish I could look like the models wearing them). I was really successful at this a year ago: took spin classes, went hiking once a week, learned to cook, loved what I was eating, got myself off of sugar, dropped a pound a week for about 3 months, looked incredible. Even, maybe, a little too thin.
But I just can't get myself back on that train. I'm indulging in insane sugar-fests, and exercising sporadically. And, this week, feeling incredibly sorry for my poor injured self and using sweets as the equivalent of hugs. This is ridiculous. I should throw out all of the sweets in my kitchen (there are many. so many.) and hug my kitty when I'm feeling down. Or call a friend. Or sit in the oh-so-infrequent sunshine that has been blessing us with its presence this week. Or hobble down the street and feel blessed that it was a temporary injury, that I'm healing so quickly, and that I can already get around pretty well on my own again. And be in awe of people who deal with so much more difficulty every day of their life, and with much more grace than I.
Okay. Out go the sweets.
Maybe.
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