$26.25

I have a real problem with swearing.  I enjoy four-letter words far more than I should - I actually get a weird sense of satisfaction when I use one in a sentence.  This penchant, however, is generally not socially acceptable and it causes problems in professional environments and also around children.  The former reason is why, as a second-year med student, I told my friend Mike to charge me 25 cents every time I used the F word.  If I told him to charge me for every swear word I would be much deeper in student loan debt than I actually am, but I figured I had to start somewhere.  The F word seemed like the best starting point, as it was the one that raised the most eyebrows.  (I had not started using the C word at this point, otherwise that would have trumped the F word.)  Long story very short, at the end of a particularly frustrating day, I wrote Mike a check for $26.25.  Do that math.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Good:  Hubs and I have discovered spaghetti squash!  Who knew a squash could be SO DAMN SPECIAL?

The Bad:  I have my period.

The Ugly:  I weighed 231.4 this week.  Don't forget that I was 223.8 2 weeks ago. 

Let's discuss these in order of importance, shall we?

Spaghetti squash!  Good Lord.  Go buy yourself a spaghetti squash, cut it in half, scoop out the seeds, bake it face down in about an inch of water on a cookie sheet at 450 for 45 minutes.  Let it cool, scrape the squash out, and serve it with spaghetti sauce or whatever you like your pasta with.  Because I will tell you, you can't tell the difference.  You can't!  I don't lie.  I couldn't lie about something as serious as pasta, because as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am a pasta LOVER.  But now that I've discovered spaghetti squash I doubt I'll ever make pasta again.  It's 42 calories for a cup of spaghetti squash.  COME ON.  AND two veggie servings?  BE STILL MY BEATING HEART.  (Yeah, I meant to use all of those caps.  I'm excited!)

My period.  Lovely.  My hands are puffy and I'm cramping a bit.  Oh, and I've been sensitive.  Ask Hubs.  Oh, and I think it had at least a little to do with my weigh-in.  Which brings me to...

...my weigh-in.

Notice that my weigh-in is the least important thing here.  Please don't confuse this prioritization with apathy.  Here, let me explain.

Refer back to the story at the beginning of this entry.  That day I owed Mike $26.25 was clearly not a good day.  It was not a victory.  You might even say I failed, which I did.  I failed to keep a clean mouth.  I failed, so I was a failure, right?  Well...yeah.  It's the definition of the word.  So be it.  I didn't kick the crap out of myself, I just walked into class the next day and said, "Mike, you're not getting that much money from me today."  We laughed, and at this point I'm not sure how much I had to give him that day, but it definitely wasn't $26.25.  I didn't think about how many times I swore on that bad day, it didn't keep me up at night, it didn't make me feel like a loser, and I didn't hate myself.

So...BREAKTHROUGH!...why should my weight make me feel that way?  Does the fact that I gained 6 measly pounds actually matter in the grand scheme of things?  I mean, it sucks for my weight loss, no doubt.  But my pants still fit.  I still look good, because really, who the HELL sees 6 pounds?  No one.  Not even me. 

I'm 6 pounds heavier.  I'm not dumber.  I'm not a worse person than I was when I was 225.4.  I'm not less successful.  I don't have fewer friends.  My dog doesn't hate me.  My family isn't shunning me.

It's 6 pounds, folks.  It's not cancer.  So we move forward, tweak some things, and do better.

You ain't gettin' $26.25 from me ever again, world.  So enjoy your windfall, because it's coming to a screeching halt.

Happy weekend!!!  :)