Last night I inched over another 5 pound marker.
They're getting further and further apart as my weight loss has become this epic crawl... and it was never all that speedy to begin with. (I know, I know, safe weight loss is no more than 2 pounds a week, but hey, there's a big space in between .5 pounds a week and 2 pounds a week and I wouldn't mind sticking my weight loss averages into a slightly closer to maybe getting this done sometime this century...) Seriously; it took me eight weeks to lose five pounds... at that rate, it's going to take me twenty weeks to lose this last 13.6 pounds. So, look for me hitting my goal... oh, in September...
Ah well... it's not like I have anything better to do. Or that it's going to be over, once I reach goal weight... I'm never going to be able to eat six doughnuts and lose a pound anyway, like my husband does. So I may as well just get used to the idea that I will always have to guard myself carefully and watch everything I eat. For the rest of my life.
God, that's depressing.
I'm not meaning to be. It's actually been a pretty good week; Thomas finally got a promotion at work which came with an actual pay raise and no additional responsibilities. (That would be different from some of his previous promotions which involved a cut in take-home pay and significantly more responsibilities. I'm perfectly serious; when he moved from hourly to salary, he got a 10% pay raise, but by adding unpaid overtime and losing the double-pay for holidays, it resulted in a 3% net loss in our spending cash...)
I've just been sick for the last week and unable to hit the gym at all... Working out with a head cold is one thing, working out with an upper respiratory infection is something else entirely. I get really tired walking across the room, or coughing, or honestly much of anything. And the scary thing is, I remember when I felt like that all the time (minus the coughing... but seriously, I remember cleaning the living room in two foot chunks because bending over to pick up Darcy's toys made me tired.)...
I don't like it much.
It was Thomas's birthday and we had some fun; a smallish birthday party and then we went dancing up with some friends - which is to say, mostly we sat on barstools and listened to music. I managed to drag Thomas out onto the floor for one song, which is the first time he's danced with me in... three years. I think the last time was at my cousin's wedding. So, you know, I'm now set up with dancing until 2012.