I'm Bloated and I'm not Afraid to Sit on You!

So I’m back from Hawaii, complete with sand in every orifice, and I’m just the teensiest bit cranky! No more vacations to look forward to, no money in my bank account, no sun, no sand - just rain and a mailbox full of bills! You may have a hard time feeling sorry for me, but that’s OK, because I’m busy enough wallowing in my own self pity. Oh, and did I mention that I’ve been drowning my sorrows with food, food, and more food? It’s not pretty. My brain and stomach are still on vacation mode, but now I’m not hiking and swimming to balance it out. I’ve gained one pound back, but truthfully, I don’t know how it’s not ten. I feel like a giant oompa loompa, minus the amazing, green hair. And to top it all off, it’s Valentine’s Day, and there are chocolates everywhere, and all of them manage to wind up in my belly. Ohhhhhhhhhh, boy.

At this moment in time, I’m sitting in my sweat pants and if I had my way, I wouldn’t be getting out of them anytime in the foreseeable future. I have absolutely no willpower whatsoever to do anything remotely active or healthy. I’m in the mood to sit on the couch, M & M’s in hand, watching my booty steadily expand. I’m in desperate need of a swift kick in the ass and some motivation! Now I remember why I started writing this thing in the first place. It sucks enough when you discover you’ve gained weight when you’re in the nude and alone on your bathroom scale. But it sucks big time balls when you have to admit it to the world! (Or the 5 or 6 people who read this on a regular basis). So the point is, I better find motivation somewhere, because I don’t want to have to admit what a lazy pile o’ poo I’ve been two weeks in a row. Next week I want to write about being victorious and amazing and losing the equivalent of a small squirrel’s worth of weight.

So here’s my plan: I’m upping my game. I’m allowing myself to indulge tonight on an awesome Valentine’s dinner out, because after all, I’ll probably work it off later. (I have to clean house and cleaning burns calories…perverts). But after tonight, it’s back on, and I’m going balls to the walls. I’m going to propel myself out of my slug-like state, and commit to five workouts this week instead of four, and maybe those crazy endorphins I keep hearing about will kick in and urge me forward, and I’m going to track every morsel that I eat, and it’s going to be within my Weight Watcher points limit, or so help me! Rereading this blog, the English major in me is disgusted with that hideous, run-on sentence, but grammar can’t stop enthusiasm when it’s spilling out! So this is me committing to an awesome and successful week, so be prepared to be impressed! (But if it turns out that I’m a big, giant failure, please feel free to give me a verbal lashing to get my behind back in gear!).