Talk about gun shy. I'm terrified that I've either not lost weight or, even worse, have gained weight this past week. Weight Watchers starts in thirty minutes and I'm beside myself as usual. Oh, hi there.
Last week, I said that losing three pounds would be unthinkable and I did it. I don't see how I could possibly have lost three pounds again. Maybe it's the bitchy naysayer in me (she's strong, folks). Let's hope it is.
I've noticed certain bones and tendons popping out once again. My wrists are becoming more defined (every weight-conscious person's dream, of course) and my boobs are definitely smaller. I could care less about the latter. A person only needs so much in that department and I've got enough left over for three or four preteens to share.
Alright, I've stalled enough. Time to haul my timid ass over there to weigh in. Not to get all Oprah on you, but maybe one day I'll begin to "own" this process.
12:08 p.m.
1.8 pounds lost. That's so tantalizingly close to two pounds, I can taste it. I should probably refrain from tasting much of anything this week.
I'm considering ditching the Smart Ones and bringing the spinach/tomato/mushroom salad with a chicken breast on top. I could pair that with some fresh fruit. I'm concerned about the sodium content in Smart Ones. It's no surprise that I tend to retain fluids and 680 mgs. of sodium in a 180 calorie salisbury steak Smart Ones can't be great for me. Sure, it's better than having a Chipotle burrito bol three times a week but still, one can always do better.
The doofi return to the office tomorrow after their three-day conference/vacation. To say that I've done nothing since they left is a major understatement. Well, unless you consider the enjoyment of dozens of YouTube videos, blogging, exercising and phone chats nothing (yeah, I think it still applies). I should probably consider beefing up the old work ethic in light of the fact that another four people were canned this week. Yesterday, to be exact. I believe that makes a total of eleven. Where does it end?
One of them was particularly sad. We'll call her JD. She was sweet, genuinely good at her job and unfailingly polite. She was the only one among the stable of catty second floor vultures who would always stop to speak and offer a smile, no matter what. She was surrounded by nasty, unfairly compensated bitches and she knew it but she didn't allow it to get under her skin. She was let go before she got her lunch into the fridge. I passed her when I was walking into the building. She was leaving at 8:15 in the morning, her lunch bag in her hand, her face streaked with tears. One of the middle managers was following her, calling her name and JD was having none of it. Even after she'd been laid off, she still stopped to speak. "Hi, Third Girl. Hope you have a good day," with a watery but brave smile. Unbelievable. I know she'll be fine wherever she lands but it doesn't make it suck any less.