90 lbs. not anymore!
My moniker no longer fits. I should change it, but the hope is there. I'm still a load of Dynamite, just a lot more of it. I hope to return to my once slender waist, small round butt, and tight body. Jo tells me I'm just fine the way I am. I want to believe her. But, shit, I can see me, and the me I see, well, it makes me none too happy.
All my activities now require long hours of sitting. Writing, work, both are now stagnant pursuits. I supervise at work, seldom go into the field, and have tons of freaking paperwork. At home, I spend my time ghostwriting or writing my work. Jo and I watch tv for one hour a night. I do exercise, but not enough.
I'm happy with my life, not happy with my body. I either learn to accept it or find a way to change it. Just saying, I got no one to blame here.
"Want a second piece of cheesecake."
"No, thanks," Jo responds.
"I wasn't asking if you wanted one, dear, I'm asking you to pass it to me."
Until a year ago, I never weighed more than 100 pounds. Now I can't even spell one-hundred-pounds. Well, I can, I guess, as I just did. Still, it should have another number between the one-hundred, and the pounds.
Sorry, I just felt like bitching for a minute.