Public Humiliation

What to call this entry?  Here are some of the possibilities that have nibbled at the corners of my mind over the past week.  At first it started out innocuous enough: A Major McMishap.  That was when I thought that one meal was going to be all that happened, and then I'd get back on the horse.  Actually, I forget most of the ones I thought of (they were okay or pretty good though) until it started taking a marked turn for the worse.  McFailure.  The Snowball Effect.  Spiralling Out of Control.  (They're not very clever, but they get the point across.)

Pizza.  Coke. French fries.  Cheeseburgers.  Fried chicken. Ice cream. Brownie. Chocolate chip cookie. Banana-nut bread.  I have tasted of all this and more since my last blog post.

And in case you missed it, this went down last night:

I know I look really proud of myself, but I'm not.

How could this have happened?  How could I be the same person who was so motivated and so confident that I would successfully avoid junk food for three whole months, as long as I had the threat of public humiliation looming over me?  Have I no shame?  Shame is still present and accounted for.  Pride, not so much.

This is actually an interesting intellectual conundrum.  Why do we, as humans (notice how I shifted the focus away from myself, and thinly and equally dispersed the blame across all mankind?), experience a thorough and sincere intention toward one action and then carry out another, often the exact opposite? 

These are life's imponderables.  Unfortunately, I don't have all night to get this blog done.  I'm a very busy person and I need to go to sleep at some point soon.  See ya 'round, shmound!

...

Okay.  By way of explanation (not "excuse-ation"), we had to move from one residence to another and were under-prepared (I would argue through no fault of our own.)  Then on the day that movers were scheduled to take away all the furniture and big pieces, they just flat-out didn't show up.  When you're working your tail off dawn til dark and there is a hard deadline, one doesn't have time to replenish the groceries.  Pots and pans, packed away, etc.  I admit that with a little more fortitude I could have continued to make healthy choices even though the vagaries of life shunted me into restaurants.  My theory is that there is a certain stress threshold level when it comes to addictions/habits, and when circumstances exceed your emotional limit, that's it, you're out of the game.

For now.

And then you try again.  Quitting is a skill that you have to practice and practice and build on to get good at it.  Everybody knows that's how it works with cigarettes and crack. This is no different.

Since I fell off the straight and narrow path, I have definitely wondered if everyone who was reading my blog will now be bored with it and consider it a complete waste of time.  Like, if I'm not serious, why should you care?  

I can't even really answer that.

Where do we go from here?  Here are some options.  Maybe the three months starts over, and if I screw up again, the clock re-sets again.  At first I scoffed at that as beyond reason but now I think it might be a good way to go if I want to build up my ability to go without junk for a long period of time. Another option is to try to predict when I'll buckle and to plan a cheat day for that time.  That can be kind of complicated.  It's hard to stop with one meal or one day.  What if I were going along just fine, able to resist forbidden snacks, and then got re-hooked simply because I reached an allotted cheat day?

On the upside, I did go two days past my previous three-week "record" for no junk food consumed (if you don't count one small bag of chips).  Is it the three-week time period that makes me buckle, or was it simply the stressful events?  Or both?  I gotta know.  Because I know that success is all about pre-paving the road and planning ahead.

After only a couple of these illicit meals, my daughter said, "What happened to your tummy?" - I waited a beat for the inevitable follow-up, "You have a baby."  She didn't disappoint.

I've asked myself, "How can I keep people tuning into my blog if they're disgusted by my weakness and frustrated by my failure?" 

And I've answered myself:  "Share your fattest home movie. The one you swore would never see the light of day."

What I should really do is make it a cliffhanger, and tell you I'm GONNA post it next time.  But I'm just going to share it now because...pffffft.  It's not a BFD.

So here it is...and be aware that there are cute babies in it that steal the show, so please try and remain calm.  The set-up:  I am on camera, aware of the large size of my body.  Suddenly I become too self-conscious to remain in the shot, so I attempt to flee.  But that only makes matters worse!  I would have looked fine if I had just stayed put, but no.  I hoisted myself up onto my haunches, and then, it happened...the blubber jiggled.  Just for a fleeting instant.

I'm mostly over it now.  Since I'm at a pretty low point, it is actually a positive thing for me to share this, because I can be glad that my body is no longer that heavy and unwieldy.

If you are curious because you are depraved and want to see some jiggles to judge, feel free to judge away.  I know you're probably pretty supportive and nice, though.  I think well of you.

Remember that.   

Without further ado...

If you're still with me, please share in the comments section what you think I should do next.  Just keep trying to not eat any junk until August 1st?  So it would really more accurately be called, "Three Months of Giving it The Old College Try."   Or maybe try to gradually extend my powers of resistance by trying to make it to 4 weeks until I make it, then try to make it to 5 weeks until I make it, and so on?   Or let the clock re-set on the whole 3 months each time I mess up?  What is your opinion?  Do tell.

Thank you for reading this self-absorbed, narcissistic bullshit.