Trickery. Prestidigitation. Deception.

You know that feeling you get when you've been working out hard for a few weeks, really sweating and watching your meals and then you get on the scale and nothing's different?

I feel like I'm sort of the mirror-image of that. I've been ..off lately. Not working out. Eating a lot of take out, snacking late at night, skipping meals. So while the number on the scale is a relief of sorts, I know it's sort of a lie. Like in the next few weeks the effects of this recent bout of blues will manifest themselves.

The other problem I'm having is one of acceptance standards. 250 used to be a really bad number. 250 was a reason to get mad. Then I let things get a little out of control, and 250 became sort of a "I'm getting back on track" benchmark number. A water cup station in the middle of a long race, letting you know you're making progress -- but you've still got a ways to go.

Now 250 is sort of a good number. 250 is a relief.

Not a good thing. Gotta work on it.



Haven't been working out, and last night's dinner was mostly potato chips. The good news is that I'm down almost 10 pounds from where I was a few weeks ago after a particularly bad binge eating period, but because I'm essentially down to like 2 meals a day (complications resulting from having to pick my kid up from school early and then take him back to work with me, which is it's own mess that I'm probably gonna catch hell for pretty soon from my bosses), and I've been eating out/fast fooding it too much lately -- I'm sorta surprised at this number.

I'm down lately. Lonely, largely uninspired -- hitting this mess of fall blahs as my birthday unavoidable approaches and things off in the distance seem unsure for whatever reason.

I need to get focused, or even just find a spark of inspiration to get addicted to.

Just haven't been able to uncover it yet..