I really, really want to eat some crap. Crap food. Cheetos, Pepsi, chips, dips, whips. I want a big nasty cheeseburger with toasted bun and dripping with sauce. I want some turkey stuffing with gravy. I want some pumpkin pie with ice cream. I want some gall-dang pizza.

But. I’m not going to. I am drinking my protein shake and losing weight like crazy. I have to shrink this liver and lose as much as possible before Monday’s weight loss surgery. I want to walk in and have the doctor remark at how much I’ve lost. I want the doctor to cut me open and grab his surgical mask and gasp, “My God, this is the skinniest liver I’ve ever seen in an obese patient. How did she do it?”


That’s not going to happen. I just want to do my best.

Honestly, that food was killing me. I feel better without it. I think it’s finally out of my body and I’m doing well. No more hives. No more sore throat. No more fevered fits of justification and rationalization about how I can just get surgery another time. It’s good. I’m good. Just having a weak-willed moment. You are what you eat and I’m a soft bowl of Jello right now over snacks. It’s hard to watch TV without mindlessly popping a snack. I like to eat and watch TV. Bad habit from a very young age. I Love Lucy reruns eating egg sandwiches when I was 5? Good memory.

After morning activities and bathroom breaks, I weigh 430.4 lbs. That’s pretty frackin’ great. 25 lb. loss. Suck it, Cheetos.


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