...weak for wine, weak for pasta, weak for popcorn with real butter, weak for sad movies, weak for workshops that keep one away from the gym, weak for avocados, weak for mayo, what the heck, weak for bacon, weak for feeling sorry for me sad sad self and the results? A week of not so great results.
Whatever the scale said on that triumphant day last week, whatever was trumpheted all over the internet and the boastful blog-world, reverse it, subtract two or, God forbid three and. let's just carry on. That's the ticket in this game, carry on....
Tomorrow is Febuary 1st, a new month, new new page on the calender. We are all weak, we all fail to one degree or another. I refuse to beat myself up. I look forward to tomorrow and, no, I don't go to the fridge tonigh and comfort myself with food. I'm still ahead of the game. I'm still in the playing field and, you know what? I'm still going to win. I'll deliver more concrete information mid way through week five. It's all a'coming and my arms (firmer, less flabby) are open wide. Bring on the new month. Damn the poundage. Bless the air that I breath, the people that I love, and moving right along, I look ahead to the future. Move, move, move. All with gratitude, all with love, and with particularly fond memories of Craig, who crossed over this time a decade ago but whom I swear I saw in NYC last September, arm-in-arm with his lover.
M
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