I often wonder what it would be like to be the kind of person who makes decisions easily. It's very difficult when one is the kind of person who over-analyzes every situation, and one is married to a person who does that, as well.

Decisions take a really long time around here.

Then, after we've decided on a course of action, we tend to think about it some more and keep thinking about it until we've talked ourselves out of it.

What kind of decisions? Well, it could be anything, from where to go on vacation to whether or not we should get a puppy, or anything in-between. Sometimes, it's as small as deciding where to go for dinner.

Honestly, sometimes we end up going to the same place over and over again because we're too afraid of things like raw meat and/or food poisoning to change (but that's kind of the curse of being someone-or being married to someone-with an intestinal problem).

We work on being more spontaneous, but I honestly don't know if working towards spontaneity is a very effective course of action. Shouldn't it just be something one does without having to plan to be that way? Doesn't planning ahead to do something at the last minute sort of negate the last-minuteness of the activity?

I don't know if we'll ever be good at decisions or be able to stop questioning everything. I just want to try to not be so aware of every issue that could arise. I want to eat a meal without calculating the possible percentages of microbes on my food. I want to go shopping without trying not to buy anything that we don't really, really need, and calculating the cost per usage of every article of clothing I buy and trying to keep it below a dollar (yeah, I do that--it's actually really useful to know how much you're spending per wearing).

Or maybe I just don't want to feel like such a weirdo for doing all of those things. Maybe it would be nice if other people tried to see those things as one of my positives instead of being a negative.

Or, maybe it's none of their business, anyway, and I should stop trying to make other people happy.

That's probably it. I still don't like it. I guess Mick Jagger was right: You can't always get what you want. 

Oh, yeah, and I also want Cheetos. Lots and lots of Cheetos. Cheetos without consequence. Cheetos and Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream from Baskin-Robbins. 

I think that's something we can all agree on. I just need to work on the "without consequence" part. If science can invent cures for diseases and alternative energy sources, can't they invent delicious deliciousness that won't make my butt wider?

Come on, guys. Get a move on.

I have a confession to make, and I've decided to do it on here, to just get it over with, once and for all: We've switched to instant coffee.

Yes, yes, I know. Get it out of your system.

Why? Because Trader Joe's discontinued the brewed coffee that I like, I can't find another one that I like, and when we were in Ireland, we had no coffee maker, so we bought a jar of coffee crystals and discovered that they taste frisking awesome.

(Spell-check keeps changing fricking to frisking, and I decided to keep it. I like the way it looks, and maybe I'll start a new trend. Frisking awesome.)

Anyway, maybe if I drank my coffee black, it would be an issue; however, I don't, because it tastes gross that way. I use cream and sugar and all of that nonsense, and instant coffee (with all of that stuff) tastes pretty darn good.

Plus, I was getting kind of sick of cleaning out the French press every morning, and I couldn't find a coffee maker that I liked that wasn't a Keurig (I like the idea of the Keurig, but it's just too expensive and the coffee is just okay, not great).

I'm a little picky. I know.

Anyway, the instant costs less, too, so I feel pretty happy about that. There's also the fact that I could take coffee to work and drink it there since we have a hot water dispenser in the office (even though I never drink coffee at work because I'm too self-conscious about coffee breath).

I like to have options, alright?

So now it's all out in the open. I feel like I did the right thing. Just in case you're curious, this is the kind of instant we use:

Image from target.com

You know you want to try it. No cleanup, fast, and it tastes like coffee. Well, it tastes like instant coffee. Which is just fine by me, especially at 5 a.m.

Plus, it's cheap and easy. Kind of like me.

Ha ha ha. I am frisking awesome.

I'm glad to see you all survived last week. It was touch and go for a minute, there, but I made it too. I was injured, so I actually have an excuse for not regaling the world with my stories of hooligans and shenaninganery (it's a word because I say it is).

So I woke up last Sunday, after having a lovely evening out with friends, completely unable to lift my head. The pain was so intense I thought I was going to die. I have a bad neck, so I thought it was just a neck episode and it would better the next day.

Oh, no. It was not. It was actually worse after a day of rest. So I went to the doctor and got some Mega-Advil and muscle relaxers. So, that was pretty much my week last week. Neck pain and feeling like a space cadet. I was zoning out so bad I started to notice it and then zone out about zoning out. Yeah. 

So, anyhow, yesterday was my first day sans muscle relaxers and with only regular Advil, and it was okay. Not too bad. However, I went to get on the Wii (which, incidentally, was the culprit…yes, I injured myself with over-vigorous Wii boxing), and I found that, after a week with careful eating but no exercise, I had, in fact, gained 5 pounds.

FIVE POUNDS.

If I knew that was going to happen, I would've just decided to throw in the towel and eaten what I wanted to eat while I was feeling like poo.

Therefore, I have come to the decision that I need to go back to counting calories until every last one of these pounds is gone. Yesterday was day one and it wasn't bad at all. I actually felt like I ate pretty much what I normally eat.

This does not bode well for future weigh-ins.

At this rate, I'm going to hit 300 pounds by my birthday.

Ugh.

There you go. The story of my week. Try to stay calm.

Okay, I weighed myself. I was going to write about it the next day, but I didn't because I hadn't decided yet how I felt about it. I have, however, decided that I feel okay about it: I lost seven-tenths of a pound.

Yeah, that's it. It had been three weeks. Three weeks of sweaty exercise class and vegetables and very little booze and/or cake.

Seven-tenths of a pound.

My husband encouraged me to be happy about it, since down is better than up, but seriously? Not even a whole pound?

Therefore, I am okay with it. Not happy, but okay. I still keep thinking I'm going to wake up one day and go into the bathroom and see a much thinner person in the mirror. It hasn't happened yet, and I'm not holding my breath for it.

I think I have just switched my earliest childhood dream for a newer one.

When I was little (meaning maybe four years old), I wanted to have long, red hair. I wanted it really bad. There must've been some kid in pre-school that had that, and I longed for it. Not sure why, since I had a major aversion to freckles, and the two normally go together, but, whatever. Every night before I went to bed I would pray and ask God to let me wake up with long, red hair.

It never happened, in case you're wondering.

This dream was replaced by wanting to wake up thin when I was about ten years old. Still having that dream, although I don't really think it'll ever happen.

Seven-tenths of a pound.

Seriously.

So, now, maybe I should just buy me a long, red wig and a good girdle and go drink beers after work. I feel like that's the closest I'll ever get to achieving my dreams.

Except that I no longer want red hair (I don't have the skin for it), and if I do wear a girdle, the beer drinking will be uncomfortable and not fun. I need a new plan, right away.

Still, though. Seven-tenths of a pound in three weeks. Yeah, I don't think I'm okay with it. I need more Billy Blanks in my life. That might fix it.

from zillow.com

Ermahgersh. He kills me. Between Billy and Zumba, though, something's got to happen. For reals. Or else I will never stop whining, via this blog, about my weight-loss failures. And you will all be forced to read it.

And the world will explode, I tell you.

Aaaaand that's all I've got. Happy weekend (almost)!

I am going to weigh myself this morning, which is, of course, why I'm writing this post. I get something done that feels productive, and I put off the inevitable doom.

I can't escape. It must be done.

I tell myself at night that I'm not weighing the next morning, because when I was weighing myself every day, I started to not be able to sleep the night before because I was so worried about it. Yes, I figured out that the best way to handle my nerves was to lie to myself. 

So far, my strategy has been fine.

This year, I've been actively not dieting, and eating healthy and exercising almost every day for long periods of time. So let's see how much weight I've gained. I felt like I was getting smaller, but then on Sunday I measured my waist and it was slightly larger than the last time I measured. That one's tricky, though, because sometimes I suck in and pull the tape really hard, just so I can feel a little bit better. This time I didn't. But did I last time? I can't remember.

So I'll see how the weight goes. I'm not feeling very positive about it, because at this point, I think the only way I'm ever going to lose a significant amount of weight is by chopping off a body part. And I just can't decide which one would give me the most weight loss and also not be too inconvenient.

This morning, I'm trying to prepare myself for the moment when my Wii character suddenly expands to Jabba-the-Hutt-like size and then explodes. After that, the Wii will give me the finger and tell me to get off of the balance board before it breaks.

It's going to happen one of these days, I know it.

Okay, I guess I'm sufficiently prepared for the worst. I'm still going to be sad, though. I know it.