Two Days Before Wednesday Weigh-In No. 5

Weight: Somewhere Close to That of a Beluga Whale

I thought I'd whine for a little bit. I feel like whining.

I don't want to diet anymore.

I feel like I'm starving -- like I haven't eaten in months, and that's sad considering I haven't been dieting at all, just cutting back on calories ... a little, not even a lot.

What's killing me is the guilt. (The technical term for it is cognitive dissonance: I feel bad because I'm not living up to my own strict standards, but I refuse to do what it takes to live up to them or change my standards to fit my lifestyle so I just beat myself up about it instead.)

It's not so bad when I have an empty fridge and bare cupboards. Even if I'm hungry, if there's not to eat, I won't eat. But when there's kids in the house, that tactic borders on child abuse, so I can't do it. Instead, I have to frequent the grocery store two or three times a week and walk by the piles of avacados and buckets of sour cream and stacks of fresh-baked cherry pies and pretend that I'm not looking and pretend that it's not screaming out to me to quit this ridiculous competition and just forget about losing weight because it's not like I'm going to lose any substantial amount anyway and I've already lost six pounds and look at me, not even a pants size smaller yet and what's the use of it all anyway?

I hate that my resolve is dissolving. I knew it. I knew it. It always happens. Right about this stage of the game, too. I told you I've tried this weight loss stuff before and it never works -- mostly because I'm a weak creature tied to my bad habits like an anchor to a sinking ship, and because I lack the fortitude to stick it through.

It's not for a lack of wanting to do it. I wake up each morning with the best intentions. I've even started sleeping in my sweats so as to make it easier to make the transition from the bed to the street, but I never quite make it out the door to go jogging. I make up a million excuses why not to do it: I could sleep in instead, I have a to-do list a mile long and should get started on it early, I'd rather fill-in-the-blank. To make up for my lack of exercise, I starve myself through breakfast and lunch, but I'm learning that tactic is profoundly detrimental considering that I'm usually ravenous by the time dinner is fixed, and, well, I've already described my incredibly embarrasing lack of self-control to y'all so I won't elaborate further on that.

The only thing keeping me going at this point is the Wednesday Weigh-In. Knowing that I have to face that damn scale come Wednesday morning. Knowing that it won't be nice and tell me I look good anyway (like my husband will do), or tell me that it's not the pounds lost so much as the way I feel about myself on the inside (like my friends will do).

Screw all that. I've got to lose some weight.

Salad for lunch, anyone?