As many of you know, I'm working at a law firm now. It's really interesting, especially because we do a lot of cases that involve medical stuff, so there will be pages and pages of books about insides and guts and all of that good stuff for me to copy and put in the computer.

The hard part, though, is that recently there's a lot of stuff about colons.

Now, don't get me wrong, I still think that the word "bowel" is hilarious, and I take a lot of pleasure in naming the saved files funny things that only I will get, so that when I have to pull them up, it makes me giggle and no one else will ever know. The downside is that learning more about how doctors diagnose issues with colons makes me think about my mom and all of the warning signs which nobody put together until it was too late.

I know, I know, I work for lawyers, and some people would've probably looked into legal action, but the thing is, in my mind, there's nothing that can get my mom back for us, so why drag a bunch of people and ourselves through all the poop? It's not like any one doctor just maliciously ignored something that later turned out to be a big deal, like the time three years before her diagnosis when she was hospitalized for a bowel obstruction (which I now know can be a sign of colon cancer), and they saw some spots on her liver when they scanned her which the radiologist decided was nothing, and which we now know were the cancer spreading from her colon to her liver.

I know in my heart that the guy was trying to do his job. No one would purposely ignore something that they had any suspicion was something as serious as cancer cells on someone's liver. But I hate it that I didn't know and didn't stop it before it was too late.

I realize that I'm not a doctor. I just wish I was psychic. And a doctor. A psychic doctor.

Anyway, today, reading stuff that confirms all of the things we now know are true, I wish I could've changed it. I wish I could've saved her. I know that's impossible, and that she's in a WAY better place now, doing all the fun stuff and not having to have cold winters, Grey Poupon, or those terrible shots in her elbow ever again. I know.

But I still hate it.

Also, bowels. Bowels, bowels, bowels.

I'm good now.

I’m not going to make excuses...it’s been tough in my neck of the woods, so I haven’t felt like writing anything. Just the same old business, grieving and all of that, and it’s kind of exhausting. I know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel is really, really long, and it’s just taking me longer to figure out how I’m going to keep moving than I thought it would. Just blech.

Anyway, something interesting has happened, so I thought I’d share. I have been on a diet forever. Like, seriously, FOREVER. My first preventative diet started when I was eight, and that’s when I got fat, and I’ve been there ever since.

Food and I are very complicated together. Definitely a love/hate relationship.

So I’ve been on this new eating plan since June, and at first I did well. I lost about five pounds, but then that was it. And the scale was steadfastly holding at around the same weight range. This new way of eating is all about being healthy and not counting calories, but I was still journaling my food, because when I don’t do that, I tend to balloon, and nobody wants to have to buy me new pants. Just, no.

I really want to be healthy. It’s important to me. This whole experience with my mom has shown me how important our bodies are, and if I crap mine up, I can’t buy a new one. And it’s really not that fun to treat it unkindly all of the time.

I follow a lot of people on Instagram who have “unconventional” figures and are just happy with themselves and not full of self-loathing and wanting to be thin above everything else, and it’s making me think that maybe punishing myself for being fat isn’t working. Maybe I should focus on being healthy, whether or not the scale is moving. I can’t just automatically decide that I’m okay with my chub, but I can decide that being punitive with food and exercise isn’t the way to go. Plus, it’s not working anymore. My metabolism is shot.

So when we got back from our trip, at the beginning of this month, I didn’t weigh myself and start right back in at 1,000 calories a day to get back in. I just cut out all of the sugar and ate a lot of vegetables and very little carbs. And for Thanksgiving, I ate what I wanted, plus one piece of pie, and then no more sugar again.

This morning, I woke up and decided it was now or never time.

I pulled out the scale, got on it, and I have lost three pounds this month. I LOST WEIGHT. Holy crap. And it’s my lowest weight in over a year. Not by much; I’m talking by like half a pound, but I really thought I’d get on that bad boy and it would just flip me the bird and tell me I’d gained a gazillion pounds and I needed to go back to counting, plus, not eat the rest of the week.

It didn’t, though. Shocking.

At any rate, it’s interesting, so I thought I’d share. Something good, for a change.

Well, it’s been a crazy month around here. Painting the house, going to Disney World, and actually having some people over. And...to cap it all off...we re-arranged the living room furniture. I know. We are two wild and crazy guys.

I have, however, gotten to witness something that I didn’t know existed: The practice of going to Epcot to get “Drunk Around the World in One Day”.....seriously.

I know it’s an actual thing because there were ever so many large groups wearing t-shirts that said it. At first I was kind of shocked, because I don’t like the idea of getting sloshed around a bunch of little kids. It would ruin my fun, I think. What with all the little people everywhere screaming and crying, and all of the other people everywhere trying to get ahead in line, I actually feel like Epcot would be a terrifying place to get drunk. Not to mention the whole “being a good example for the little guys” thing. I am in the minority, though. Apparently.

Also, who could afford to get drunk at Epcot? With the Food and Wine Festival going on, it’s like $5.00 for a teeny little glass of wine or a taster of beer. It would cost me around $50.00 to get a good buzz going, and I’m a lightweight. A ninety pound college sophomore could probably drink twice as much, and one of those guys in his fifties wearing his “I’m the eighth dwarf—Drunky” t-shirts who looks like he’s been drinking Bud Lights and shots of Fireball every day while watching wrestling and balancing his glass on his enormous beer gut for the last thirty years probably can’t even get really drunk at sea level, anyway. So paying over ten bucks per drink to get drunk seems like a really expensive vacation to me.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m not fun. Or maybe there’s something super fun that I don’t see. At any rate, I will probably never attempt to get drunk at Epcot.

Try all the desserts, though? Or all of the cheese? I’m down.