I am the Queen of the Half-Assed.

I started going back to the gym in August, and lost a solid 10 pounds before I got bronchitis and lost the motivation to leave my bed. I then fell back into my normal routine of chowing down Pringles and playing MMOs.

Eh, typical New Years stuff is flying around now. Candice and Olivia are both going balls-to-the wall health nut, and I adore it. I really, really hate working out. I am a ninny.

I’m more than a little cynical. And whiny.

But, then I looked at this picture today:

When did I grow that extra chin?



Do I even have a waist anymore? It's more than just frumpy clothing too.

NOTE: These were taken exactly 1 year apart. Boo.

I think my other wake-up call was when I only barely fit in size 18 pants. I have always told myself that I will never wear a size 20. Everyone has their limits, that’s mine.

My goal is size ten. I am not, NOT counting pounds. I will not get on a scale. I will squeeze my fat butt into a pair of pants with a damned shoe horn if I have to, but size ten is my goal. Yes. That’s 8 sizes. Alternately, a medium size will work in lieu of numerical size.

So, this is Round 483. You know, I’m not ashamed that I’m giving another shot at losing weight, even if I fail cataclysmically. I did quit smoking, and that was a hurdle I never thought I would see. I honestly only quit smoking because I thought my non-smoker new husband would roll over in bed and find me dead from heart failure. My heart hurt so very bad. Since I quit, I don’t have the same breathing problems, I can climb stairs without getting winded, and OMG, I have money again! Oh, and I don’t smell like a dumpster set on fire anymore (bonus).

I’m not always so self-loathing, and I would definitely not call myself bitter, just… cynical. How does "cynically optimistic" work?

See? See, now that’s a happy couple.



Oh, and I also adore my pet rat(s):