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Took a shower and have on real clothes… feel somewhat better. Am sitting and waiting for Bobby to arrive so we can head off to dinner. And now I have a confession to make.

I’m a WeightWatchers drop-out. I haven’t been to a meeting in two weeks. I hate that I’m letting myself (and Bobby) down by giving us both a free pass to skip… losing weight is a positive thing for us, and we’re paying for it and not benefiting. So here go the excuses: I haven’t gone because I know what the news is going to be – I know that I’ve either maintained or gained. It’s an inevitable correlation – I get upset/stressed/anxious, and I head straight for the kitchen to eat my way back to my comfort zone. Happens every freakin’ time.

My balance is precarious. When the almost-job fell through, it had more of an impact than it should have. It should have been a blip, the average disappointment, another example of “shit happens.” But instead, the downward spiral kicked back in – throw in a good dose of “my father’s a jackass,” a handful of “Sue’s leaving,” and a pinch of “meltdown with Jennifer,” and *viola*… we’ve got a crazy person on our hands. Again.

I want to focus. I want to get back to losing weight, and showering regularly, and finding a job, and relieving the financial anxiety that is hanging over my and Bobby’s heads right now. Yet I feel like I’m operating in a fog, and the desire to get up and actually take action is short-circuiting before the message gets to my arms and legs. There’s a butt-imprint in the sofa, and although I often dreamed about doing absolutely nothing when I was a functioning member of society, the thrill is finally wearing off and I’m starting to feel jittery, unsettled, whiny, like bugs are crawling under my skin. Oh, and let’s not forget, very, VERY irritable.

Ok, speaking of irritable. Bobby just called and he’s running late. Of course. So now I’m supposed to head over to the restaurant by myself. This should be fun. Ugh.