I hate the f-ing scale!

I just need to whine, because today I stepped on the scale and was back to 182/183. I was down at 180 a few days ago. I KNOW that it’s no big deal. I KNOW that it’s not the end of the world. I KNOW that I’ve lost 93 (or 92 or 91) pounds in 6 months. I KNOW that this is fine. 

But it affects my entire fucking day. See? It’s 7:30 and I’m already using the f-word.

I’m just tired. Not sleepy, but tired of counting calories and protein and feeling guilty when I miss the gym or have a handful of granola or a banana. I ate a banana. That’s where my guilt is coming from. 


Okay, my room is filled with kids. They all want to know what I’m writing, so I guess it’s time to stop. 



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