236.6

236.6.  Four numbers that are just killing me right now.  Four numbers that have completely wiped out any confidence or joy I can find in myself.  Four measly yet evil goddamn numbers.  And really, it's just the last three.  It's the 36.6 that's the real motherfucker.

36.6 is 23 pounds more than my lightest and proudest.   It was around 213 pounds, which is still 13 pounds heavier than I wanted to be, when I relaxed.  That was a huge mistake that's led me to this demoralizing 236.6 pounds.

This article from the NY Times Sunday magazine illustrates it perfectly that this thing, this weight loss thing, is never over.  Weight loss, once it is engaged, becomes a never-ending fight because once you get fat your body becomes hard wired to keep it fat.

So right now, my body is trying to undermine years of work, so I must engage in battle and be ever-vigilant...and then continue to be ever-vigilant until I die.  And that depresses me to no end.  Makes you weary, would be a more descriptive feeling.  Just knowing that forever that I can't relax with food due to my own warped relationship to it and my chemistry is kind of a bummer.

Yeah, it's kind of weird to feel depressed about the idea of realizing that I can't enjoy food in the manner in which I find enjoyable.  It's a decidedly American problem, for sure.  Food should be fuel, I get that, but, man, it's nice to just enjoy something and this is something I cannot enjoy since enjoyment of it leads me to this despair I'm at now.  And I feel like an idiot for feeling bummed about that.  But I also realize that food is fucking everywhere, and a big part of this household.  For Christmas, I got my wife a pasta machine and a dough whisk for crying out loud.  Food abounds.

Anyway, I know I shouldn't make promises, especially on this day of breaking promises, so I just need to say I hope I can get back on the weight loss wagon and lose these 23 pounds, and the final 13.6 to get to where I need to be and then never give up so that maybe I can feel good about myself and stay that way and not let four measly stupid numbers just decimate my self esteem to the point where I can't sleep.

Oh, while I'm diarying-out-loud, this weight loss thing is just one part of a concerted effort where I'm trying to do everything I feel I should be doing.  Reading, writing and political involvement plus the weight loss, plus keeping up a healthy domestic/social life.  I am not making 2012 easy on me, but if the weight loss taught me anything, easy is not what I need to be seeking.

viva wisco