I weighed this morning and I've lost not even one teenie-tiny pound!
I just want to stomp around and throw a hissy fit.
I want to give up on trying.
I want to smash that scale with a sledge hammer and never weigh again.
I want to go buy moo-moos in several colors and live in them like Mrs. Roper.
I want to go back to bed.
No comments unless you just want to be mad with me. Sympathy will make it worse.
I'm going to sit around and pout while I have my coffee with no damn sugar, and then I'm going to try and push it out of my mind until I get back from vacation (and maybe a little longer).
My knee-jerk reaction is to make a big pan of brownies and eat them all, but I'm not going to. I'll probably gain nine pounds just thinking about it because obviously my body is fucked up.
That's right. I said the f word. I'm going to hell in a GIANT hand basket because that's all my foul-mouthed ass will fit in.
That was kind of funny.