Epic.

As in failure. Epic failure = me and my weight loss roadtrip the past few weeks.

I'm floating around the same 2 pounds I lose, then regain, then lose then regain over and over and I am sick of it. Sick of myself for making excuses about it, too. There are no more excuses left: I simply have not been on track with eating right, working out, and giving a shit. Work has been stressful and very very busy, I've been fatigued more than usual lately, and my spare time is still immersed in kids and husband and reading and loafing and just generally not giving a damn even though I know I should.

But today? Today is a new day and I was interviewed for the news after my organization put out a press release. And as I tried desperately to look cute for the camera, all I kept thinking was "I hope they are not showing anything below my shoulders. Oh my god...is my muffin top totally visible in this shirt? Maybe I should have unbuttoned one more button to create a deeper 'v' and make myself look thinner? Would a deeper v really make me look thinner? Can I die now? Why must people who work for the news all be so damn skinny?"

I've run out of new things to say about this, and the old things seem like life on repeat. I'm sick of repeating myself in words and then failing myself in actions. So, it's back to basics and the ol' drawing board, if you will. I'm focusing on something simple right now: track what I eat. That's it. That alone should help me manage my intake and hopefully inspire my love handles to go the fuck away.