bravery of being out of range

I keep my scale in the laundry room. The laundry room is in our basement and I deliberately put it down there, thinking that it should be close to where I work out. I hate tripping over the darned thing in the bathroom. By keeping it in the basement though, it's easier to avoid it. If I stay away from the scale, I won't actually know how "bad" I'm doing. Not that feeling my pants get tight (or get shorter -- how is that?? your tummy and bum get bigger and pull the length up in your pant legs - charming!!) shouldn't be enough of a smack in the noggin' for me. Somehow I think, I thought that things were going well if I just didn't step onto the scale. I could put on a brave face and pretend that I hadn't really gained back 1/2 of the weight I'd lost if I just avoided the laundry room.

This morning, disgusted with the huge white face / too tight pants situation that I'm finding myself in these days, I got brave (ha!) and timidly stepped on that scale. I was relieved (how sick this is) that I weighed the same now and I did the last time I weighed in. I shouldn't have been relieved, I should have been angry. I guess the anger came later, well, right now actually, as I'm typing this. I'm annoyed with myself, seriously.

Don't get me wrong, we've stuck to our guns about not eating anywhere that has a drive-thru but, we've eaten in restaurants or had take-out more times than I care to count over the past couple of weeks. That could be why my pants feel like they do, why my bra is cutting into me. Oh, also, there's the crap. It's fancy holiday type crap but crap nonetheless. Like, last night, we were out doing errands. We were both tired, cranky, air deprived (where DOES all the air go in the stores during the winter??) and soggy from the rain. Somehow, don't ask me how because it's honestly a bit of a blur, we convinced ourselves that a "treat" of some truffles would be "okay." We get home, I see the big box of chocolates and just shake my head. I opened it up, sniffed it (it smelled wonderful) and listened to my hunny make yummy noises while he ate one but I couldn't do it. Something in me just would not let my hands touch them, much less put them into my mouth, while I watched the Biggest Loser finale. I was so impressed by how well everyone did on the show (but don't get me started on how I feel about the "winner" because I couldn't stand the particular person who won it all), how good they all looked. I was a little jealous of how happy they all seemed and that made it impossible for me to eat a chocolate.

I'm sick of feeling like this and I'm really sick of how I have to keep writing about how sick I am about all of this. Tonight, I'm going to toss out the chocolate. I can't go on anymore with tight pants and a bloated looking face. It's not funny, I'm not happy and I just can't have it anymore.