I haven’t checked my weight at all this week on my bathroom scale, which is calibrated correctly so it matches the one at WW. I have eaten healthy for the most part, but there was a drive-thru incident on Sunday. After I swam laps. On an empty stomach. Before I did some heavy lifting.

It was one cheeseburger. A small one. And fries. Medium.

I felt guilty. I didn’t really enjoy it.

Yesterday I was mega-stressed at work. Not once, not twice, but THREE times I wandered my fat ass to the vending machine and contemplated a Three Musketeers bar. I twirled the dollar in my pocket. I thought the chocolate would make me feel better. But I did not buy one.

If I am going to indulge in chocolate, I want something better than a stale Three Musketeers bar.

That’s progress, I guess.

Still, I don’t want to weigh in tomorrow. I can’t handle another episode with Judgy McJudgerson, the condescending bitch behind the counter, if I didn’t lose weight this week. Never mind that I know that losing weight is a marathon, not  a sprint. Never mind that I know setbacks happen and never mind that I ate one lousy fucking cheeseburger but did not eat a candy bar this week.

I just don’t want to go. And that usually means the beginning of the end.

Every other Monday (and this would be one of them) I have to process payroll, which adds a side of annoying to the usual shit sandwich. Getting up early to get my flu shot before work today was like the appetizer, making this Monday a balanced diet of stress.

Since I am of the opinion that it is impossible to be unhappy while eating pizza, I chose to bring a Lean Cuisine Deluxe Pizza with me for lunch today. Indeed, for the  four or five minute it took me to eat it, I felt considerably less stabby grumpy.

As you can see, the actual product varies substantially from the box photo. At first I thought, “Aw damn. Someone at the Lean Cuisine factory forgot to hit the pepperoni button and this one had none.”  Not so. The promised trio of pepperoni was hiding under the other ingredients.

Veggies were a bit lacking here. The lovely mushroom slices and pepper chunks you see on the box photoe were mere dots on the surface in reality, but luckily so were the black olives, not my fave pizza topping (please, oh please, let those specks have been black olives.)

This dish was OK — certainly not the cheesy bliss of a pizzeria slice, but still satisfying, especially on a Monday. A little added oregano and red pepper flakes made this lunch more palatable. A pile of Parmesan cheese would have really helped, but also hurt the cause of eating frozen diet food.

The 340 calories and 8 grams of fat are offset by a generous 4 grams of fiber, so nutritionally this should help me face water aerobics tonight.

Also the copious amount of garlic on the pizza may have the added benefit of repelling anyone who might want to wander into my office this afternoon.

Today has been stressful, and I am disappointed in myself because my kneejerk reaction to anxiety is STILL to reach for the comfort of a cupcake. I didn’t indulge, but I was sorely tempted.

I know that food is not a good way to cope with anxiety, but it’s been my default mode for four decades.

It’s going to take a great deal of hard work on my part to retrain my brain that chocolate cake is not the answer, unless the question is “What will make you feel happy for about a minute but make you feel like a fat failure later?”

Harsh, I know. It’s how my internal dialog rolls. Probably need to address that, too.

I wish I could just fast forward through the hard parts.

Delayed gratification is another problem of mine. Apparently.

You know in the movies when you see a character undergoing a metamorphosis or preparing for a major life moment? Studying for the big test, training for a race, or transforming from the fat, awkward hag into the slender, confident woman? Those changes usually happen in a 90-second montage with an inspirational song playing over the scenes of the sacrifices the character made to attain the goal.

I want that montage. Just drill down all this emotional bullshit of overcoming my obsession with food and the hard work of exercise into a minute-and-a-half narrated by some Lady Gaga tune, please and thanks.

Doesn’t work like that, though. And yeah, it would totally  suck to condense the next couple of years of my life — which I hope will be filled with more happy moments than shitty ones — into the amount of time it takes to play a verse and the chorus of “Edge of Glory.”

The only motivation I have is that there will be better years — and more of them — in my life by at least trying to drop these pounds than if I never attempted it at all. Becoming mentally, emotionally and physically healthy are the LONG TERM goals.

But my internal lazy brat would still rather curl up with a cannoli and hit fast forward.

*I didn’t indulge in anything I am ashamed to share. Lunch was just too boring to discuss. 

I would like to say it wasn’t as bad as I feared. But I hardly ever get to say what I like.

I spent most of 2008 shedding 50 pounds. It seems that I spent a good portion of 2009 piling 24 of those pounds right back on.

When I finally pried myself out of the fetal position that I curled into, I had to admit to myself that I already knew this to be true. I’ve only been wearing the same two pairs of jeans and one pair of khakis for months because I can’t squeeze my ass into any of my wardrobe full of pants. I can see the fat oozing over the top of my waistband and bulging through my shirts.

But numbers are scary as shit. Numbers bend you over and spank you hard. And not in a fun, kinky way.

And I fretted and I worried and I beat myself up emotionally for failing for the umpteenth time in my life. I ended up with a migraine.

It was so fucking hard to take this weight off in 2008 and I am so disappointed in myself for letting 2009 take me half way back to where I was.

But I abso-fuckin-lutley cannot go back to Weight Watchers. I cannot sit through those ridiculous meetings and I cannot log in every bite of food I eat and I cannot agonize whether I swam enough laps in the morning to earn the estimated points in a slice of birthday cake in the afternoon. Real people don’t live that way and I like to live like a real person.

So I have spent this week doing the best I can to make good food choices. No vending machine treats. No McDonald’s drive thru at lunch. But no tabulating point values for every step I take and every bite I eat.

And I lost two of the 24 pounds.