You Go On With Your Bad Selfie

I was trying to get a decent face selfie to compare now and last April. I cannot do it. I always look shocked, or my eye turns, or my hair is stupid. The difference between now and April is pretty significant, though.

Newer glasses, too. I didn’t end up wearing the ones on the left at all, actually. I didn’t like them.

But there’s a definite difference, right? I need to stop getting so down on myself for, what, not even a 10-pound gain this month?

I’m still at just 9 points for today, and only now am I starting to feel hungry.

I can do this. I could be in that leopard dress in February if I have more days like today. It could take as little as two weeks to lose the 7 or 8 pounds I gained. Of course, I don’t want to push myself too hard right now and fail.

Also, I was looking at summer 2018, and those love handles were gone by the time I hit the high 130s. Hopefully I can do it again.

Your skin doesn’t always snap back to its original form, once stretched, especially as you get older. And that’s what I’m worried about. But I guess there’s only one way to find out. If it doesn’t work out this time, I can always surgery them off.

Kidding, totally kidding. I’ve already read about that whole process in a memoir about a woman who lost 130 pounds and had the surgery to remove excess skin, and it is disgusting! And painful. And expensive, if you can’t prove medical necessity. And I’d need Derek home and attentive to my needs for several weeks post-op. He works full time. There’s just no way.

No, I will just have to live with the loves if they don’t go away this time. But I think they will. Anyway, they’re not so much love handles as they are little side-bumps that simply rob me of the tiny waist I once had.

I can’t recreate my 20s. If I could, I’d be making a shitload in Beverly Hills. I’m just trying to come to terms with that now rather than later.