done deed

Got.......on.......the.....scale.

Actually went out to Targay and BOUGHT a new scale. They were on sale. How fitting.

Unlike my jeans. Which are tight.

Upon bringing said scale home, S. and I proceeded to weigh ourselves. Her first. She said..."I bet it's ___." She was 10 lbs. less than she thought she was. VICTORY!

My turn. I step on. The little digital line moves across the LED screen. The #....

246.8. (Am I really going public with this?)

I say a little prayer, thankful that I was not over 250. BUT. And that's a mighty big BUT...I'm very very close to 250. It's enough to make a girl freak the fuck out.

I've decided, however, that this number, this weight, needs to be a place I am visiting FOR NOW. It's like all those doc appt's that I've suffered through for most of my life...I would tell myself, for instance, before entering the dreaded microscope room wherein my ear would be suctioned out with a vacuum that made me feel like I had a Dyson in my brain...I would say "This is just temporary. You'll be out of here in no time." I knew that the longer I stayed in that room, the more the sick child in me surfaced. It's an inevitability I've learned to manage, but it still wigs me out. So in order to control the rising tide of emotional wreckage, I talk myself down. There's a lot of "just get through this just get through this"--I think that I need to employ this approach with weight loss, or at least those times when I'm feeling discouraged or really hungry. Just hold on. Just be still. Believe that the pain of this moment, whether it's physical or psychological, will pass.

Moment by moment, I lumber toward a better life.