This Ten Pounds Looks Familiar

There's something funny to me about the idea of "losing" weight. It's not so much the practice (which I consider to be about as hilarious as prostate cancer), but rather the wording. Yes, I know it is the process of ridding oneself of the weight and therefore, in this case, losing it is a good thing. But to me, when one loses something there is always that possibility of finding the very thing you lost (whether you lost it on purpose or not). Wouldn't you agree? So I think, in the spirit of making this a permanent change in my life, I am going to call the weight reduction portion of my journey to hotness something more determined and solid like "Weight Eradication" or "Weight Abolition." Why not "Weight Reduction" you say? I see where you're headed with that, but again, the idea of reducing something still sort of implies that it can be regrown and we don't really want that. Do we?

Being a fan of the thought process that is currently being marketed as "The Secret", because it works like a freaking charm, I am realizing more than ever that my thoughts determine a lot of what goes on in my life. And yes, for those of you readers that are skeptical I hear your rationalization of why you believe that concept to be bub kiss. Maybe it works for some people and not for others but I have tested it, tried it, and found little but success in making sure that my thoughts deliver me what I want. In that vein, I have decided that I need to re-tool my thoughts about getting rid of my excess fat in order to succeed. Because, let's face it, I've lost plenty of weight. The thing is, I always seem to find it again... and all its' friends and a few extra.

Stepping on the scale at the gym on Wednesday, and realizing that I had to drop down to a lower increment of fifty pounds to measure my weight, was thrilling. Still, I've lost this weight before and I stood there feeling like I had no real right to get excited. Ten pounds (which I have lost in the two weeks since I started, and largely - I think - due to the stress and activity from my heinous move) is not that big of a deal for me to lose. Three years ago, I had seen the underside of 300 for the first time in my life since I was in my early twenties, and even that didn't manage to keep me on the straight and narrow. So my latest accomplishment was met with pleasure and dubiety. I've lost that ten pounds so many times, it's ri-goddamned-diculous. So this time, I have decided that instead of having lost it, I have dispatched it, dispensed with it, fucking destroyed it. I won't ever see that ten pounds again. Ever.

To all you other pounds that await your demise, I bid you a bittersweet farewell. You provided an exceptional service of a blubbery buffer between my vulnerable heart and others for many years and that was exactly what I had intended you to do. Bravo. But after you had been gone for a while and I invited you back for a return engagement when I needed your protection, you slacked off just when I needed you most. I got more dates with you around than I did when you were gone. So clearly you have lost your effectiveness, your power, your ability to serve your purpose. Firing didn't do the trick. You just found your way back. No, death is the only way and my little friends, I shall enjoy executing you. I really, really will.