Today was the day… the dreaded day of weigh in. I don’t remember the last time I’d stepped on the scale (ok that one time at the doctor’s office about six weeks or so ago and we all KNOW those “weigh heavy”).
I have been dreading this day for ages. I bought batteries the first week of January. I put the batteries in yesterday…. and I wasn’t even remotely tempted to step on the scale and see how much damage I’ve done in the past year.
And then this morning I really tried hard to forget about it. I’d showered, gotten half dressed, and was putting product in my hair when I realized I hadn’t weighed in. I nearly decided to put it off another day… until I realized I was making excuses…. LAME excuses. They were gems such as: Well maybe I want to weigh myself naked, and I already have pants on. Maybe I should wait until my period is over. And my personal favorite What if my tampon adds weight? Say what?
So I stepped on the scale and while I have only gained 8 lbs over my all time low of 170, I still cringe a bit at the number 178.
I’ve slid backwards and no matter what way I slice it, it is my fault. I can blame the accident and I can blame the way my body still hurts when I try to run, and I can blame any other thing out there but the truth of the matter is this is my fault. I let this happen.
And that is ok. I will survive and I will recover.
The best thing about today? Weighing myself has given me back my old mentality. I am once again someone who exercises. I am once again someone who has goals. I am once again holding myself accountable. And you know, the last time I did all those things… that was the last time I loved my body. See, it doesn’t matter that I still have a fat roll. It doesn’t matter that my nose is too big or that my thighs have dimples. What matters is that this is the body I’ve worked for. It is not the body that has “happened to me” which is how I felt all through high school, college and my 20s.
It’ll be nice to have that pride back.
I’m writing this blog to write. If periods, commas or semicolons don’t appear where they belong it is because I’m more concerned with what I’m writing about then little dots and dashes. If I get my point across that’s what matters right? I’m going to be using spell check and all that good shit. But if it doesn’t get picked up oh well. Dont judge me. If I have to worry about this being editorially correct then I’m going to lose my spark and probably my train of thought. If this bothers you that much Beth you can be my editor. KIDDING!
I will be treating this blog somewhat of a diary all ramblings, bitching, and sloppiness will be from the heart. ♥
(Seriously though if you want to pop in to a post and put spaces after my periods I wont be mad at you XD)
Cursing, using foul language, bad words, four letter words, expletives, profanity, swearing.
Whatever the fuck you want to call it, I do it. And I do it a lot.
It’s not meant to be offensive, it’s just how I speak. My mother says that it makes me sound unintelligent. Well Babs, (that’s what I call my mom by the way) I learned from you!! I heard you scream shit that time you opened my diaper and there was a scary scene in there. And I’m ok with that. I don’t consider myself to be unintelligent. I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology and I work in a professional environment where I am successful and well liked. Speaking of said professional environment, I don’t swear there. I can’t. I work with customers and I would unfortunately lose my job. If I could get away with it I would though.
Sometimes I just can’t show the emotion I’m feeling without using the word FUCK! I see NOTHING wrong with that either. Why are these silly little words so looked down upon in society? Who said that these words are not appropriate? I could google it but I don’t feel like it. I just want to whine about it here.
This post does have a point. If you have a problem with swearing (and yes that is what I primarily call it and I know it pisses Sarah off – bite me bitch) you might not want to be here. Hands down, my favorite word is FUCK and I plan on using it a lot. I also see nothing wrong or offensive with the word cunt and when someone calls me a bitch, I honestly take that is a compliment.
So if you don’t like it, fuck off.
Yeah, yeah…. so the name of the post isn’t all that original. Someone had to start this blog out and as I’m the person who created it, I’m thinking that duty falls upon me.
If you’re interested in figuring what in the world is happening around here, I recommend visiting the About page and then clicking on each of the names. There are three writers up in here. Three writers. Three personalities. Three different regions of the United States. Three different ages. (Ugh, I am the oldest by so many years I wish to cry and/or vomit. On the other hand, I can obviously hang with the younger crowd since these bitches love me so much. Side Note: Don’t let the word bitches offend you. Side Note: If it does offend you, then you’re likely better off leaving now. For real.)
It’s Sunday. Sunday is always a bit of a love/hate thing for me. Weekends can get lonely around here. I live in the smallest town which has absolutely zero things to do. When I say small, I mean small… 2600 people small. We have a Subway and a park and that’s it. While I hate the work week (something about HAVING to get up at a specified time), I do love my job and so it isn’t all bad.
What I’m actually not looking forward to this upcoming Monday (you know, tomorrow) is I’m weighing myself. The batteries in my scale have been dead for longer than I even care to admit. I’ve gained weight since the accident and it’s time to face the music. I’ll face it tomorrow. I’ll face it and then start kicking my own butt back into shape. I could act all fierce here right now and say something like “Oh, it’s no big deal… I’ve lost it before and I’ll lose it again” but I know that is crap. I know that the moment I see my weight I’ll cry and I’ll feel like crap and I’ll want to have a break down. But yeah, I’ve done it once and I can do it again. Yadda yadda.