The scale read 160.6 this morning, meaning I’m up a lousy two-tenths of a pound.
I stayed within my flex points for the week, walked/ran three days and busted out my old Tae-Bo VHS tape one day. So I stayed within my points, exercised four days and still went up.
Part of me says, “Oh, well. It’s not even a pound.” But the other part of me wonders what the crap I’m doing wrong. I’ve done WW before, so I know it works for me. I know the big difference between now and then was that I was walking to class a couple times a day plus exercising. But who knew walking to class was the key to my weight loss? This makes me hate that I have to rely on my car so much and that things are so far away and not conveniently nearby like they were at college.
I will say the one thing I’ve been doing not-so-good on is actually what kind of food I’m eating within my points. Let’s just say I wasn’t good with eating my veggies this week.
I guess that’s where I try to change this week. More veggies.
But this week scares me with Thanksgiving and all. I’m going to do the holiday right and not let wonderful, homemade holiday food pass right by me. I’ll just have to step up the exercise a bit and not go over points any other day. Thanksgiving is one day out of the year, after all. It’s not a whole week.
Black Friday is in one week, which means I have one week until I can, without shame, give into this Christmasy itch I’ve been dying to scratch since the beginning of November – you know, the beginning of the retail Christmas season?
I’ve only given in once to Holly, the Christmas channel on XM. Lucky for me, a song I didn’t really care for was playing, and I quickly switched back to normal music.
But with the stores being fully decked out in their Christmas splendor, and even cities getting into the spirit (our city’s Christmas tree lighting ceremony is tonight), I’ve been so ready for Christmas, it’s ridiculous.
I’ve been mentally decorating the house for a few weeks now. I bought some new decorations the day after Christmas last year, so I’ve been trying to remember what I now have to work with.
I got my new Martha Stewart Living in the mail the other day, too – her Christmas issue. Thanks to Martha, I have plans to create ribbon garland to drape on our windows instead of the dollar-store garland I’ve put up the last two years (I can’t take the cheapness of it anymore).
I have the day after Thanksgiving off from work, but instead of hitting the stores (I just don’t have the patience to deal with the crowds – I don’t think), I’m going to deck our halls. Too bad I don’t have boughs of holly.
I think we’re going to wait until the first weekend of December to get our tree, but at least I can have the rest of the house ready for the big Christmas centerpiece and celebrating my favorite season of all.
After talking with Sarah about her new (short) haircut, my mind went ahead and freaked me out in my sleep giving me, not one, but two dreams about my hair.
I was in the living room at our house with someone else. I told them to grab the video camera, and I grabbed a pair of scissors. Holding the ends of a chunk of my hair out straight, I made the fatal cut super close to my head. Apparently I was going for a really short ‘do. It took some time to actually cut the entire chunk short because I was, of course, using our ridiculously dull scissors I keep meaning to throw away.
But once the whole chunk was chopped, I disposed of the hair and declared it was time for the rest of it to go. Either the person filming it would have to finish the job (and make it look cute), or I’d have to get into a salon ASAP.
Then I started to freak out. I didn’t know why I chopped off my hair. After all, I’ve just decided that, if I’m going to go back to a short haircut, I’m waiting until I have enough hair to donate. And Dream Me realized I didn’t have enough to donate and was wasting perfectly good hair.
Suddenly, Dream Me woke up and realized I hadn’t chopped off my hair. The weird part is I was still dreaming. I had dreamed inside a dream. Dream Me No. 2 proceeded to lovingly brush the hair that hadn’t been prematurely hacked off and thought about how frantic Dream Me No. 1 had been to chop off a chunk of hair. It was a craziness you usually see on TV.
The good news: Real me woke up and discovered that I definitely still had my hair. I’m happy I don’t sleepwalk and act out what I dream about.
I feel like my skull is about to burst open and release the fires of hell. That’s the only thing that could possibly cause this painful of a headache.
See, I have temporomandibular disorder. Saying the name alone is enough to cause the disorder, so it’s more often called TMD (or TMJ, depending on who’s doing the calling). Basically, my the disc my jaw rides on when it opens slips out of place, causing the bones to ride on each other instead of the disc. It causes jaw pain and tiredness, and it also causes these rip-roaring headaches that are accompanied by neckaches.
I’ve been through the first step in remedying the disorder without much success. I’m not in pain nearly as frequently as before, but it hasn’t stopped entirely, which is what I would call fixed.
The next step starts with seeing an oral surgeon who specializes in the disorder. I’ve had a referral to one near me for a few months now, but I haven’t gotten around to going.
Why? Because I’m a big, feathery chicken. I’ve never had surgery. And I’m sure you’ll agree with me that jaw surgery sounds nothing like a walk in the park. I envision wires and scars and general displeasure.
Plus, my jaw hasn’t acted up since I got that referral, and I’m kind of an out-of-sight, out-of-mind kinda girl. That tends to make things easier on me.
But this pain. It’s driven me to go back through my e-mails and find the note from the referral person. I now have the doctor’s name and phone number written down on a post-it note next to me, just waiting for me to actually call.
So while going to see the oral surgeon is the next step in fixing me, the real next step is picking up the phone. And I’m having a really hard time with that.
I’ve been sitting at my desk obsessing over a chocolate craving for close to two hours now. I wanted to give it time, hoping it’d pass. And if it didn’t, I’d give in.
I gave in.
But in order to retrieve the chocolatey-peanutty-caramely goodness from the vending machine, I had to go out to my car, which is parked a little more than a half a block from the building.
And I figured if I was going to walk all the way out to my car for the change, I’d force a little extra work on myself, too. After all, a Snickers isn’t exactly low on WW points.
So I walked down three flights of stairs, down the street to the lot, back to the building, up three flights of stairs to grab my water bottle for a refill when I got the Snickers, down one flight of stairs to the working ice machine and the vending machine, up one flight of stairs back to my floor, down the hall and through the lobby to the bathroom and back here to sit and bask in deliciousness.
I’m a little crazy, no?
