Lately, I have consistently weighed around 125.  That’s 15 pounds heavier than I was before my birthday.  I must make a concerted effort to drop a few.  Simply cutting portion size should do.  I certainly didn’t exercise regularly.  Though of course I know it would help.

I can’t afford to gain any more.  I got rid of all my bigger pants.

Tonight I ate the rest of the cookies I had in the freezer.  They weren’t very good, and I’m glad they are gone.  Now, hopefully, I will not indulge in any more… indulgences.  Of the edible sort, anyway.

I’m on the verge of something.  My therapist today referred to different stages of existence.  There’s comfort, there’s stretching, and then another one that’s like EXTREEEME and unpleasant.  I think I’m lingering in “comfort,” knowing I’m unhappy but being too, well, comfortable to push myself into “stretching” — the type of existence where one grows and prospers.

No yoga this weekend, because there’s a festival in the park.  Maybe I’ll pump my bike’s tires and take a ride to the greenway.  Maybe.

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