I hate March. It is the worst month of the year. It is almost spring but, no, it is still winter: Wait, it is hot, no wait, it is cold again. Yippy! It is the first day of spring! Oh, crap: a freeze warning is in effect. Cold/hot, rainy, windy: it all sucks. It is a fucking tease.
Not that I am ready for warm weather anyway. I am still fat and scaly from winter. These legs are not short worthy by any means. After winter though 70 degrees feels like a heatwave. I feel like I should be wearing a bikini. Yet conversely in September, after summer's hellish heat, 70 degrees feels like a cold front and I want a sweater. However, I do like September. September is wonderful and sunny. March, I do not like. At all.
Okay, so the cherry trees are amazing. Beautiful, really. I love them. But the pear trees stink and my allergies kick into high gear. I can go all winter without a cold but as soon as March hits I am sick.
In March I am ugly and the weather sucks and I am sick. Then one day the doorbell will ring and I will open it and there on my doorstep is Satan. Sure he is dressed as a girl scout all cute and chirpy but I see Satan for what he is. Holding out his Samoas and calling me Eve.
Sigh, cute neighbor girl brought me all the girl scout cookies I ordered when I was feeling thin in January and was still running like a Kenyan. But now it is March and I have officially been on a diet for at least a week.
I noticed a few weeks ago that my jeans had been feeling tight. I do not own a scale so unless I go to the doctor I have no idea what I weigh. I do take my measurements though to keep track of things and make sure that I am at least maintaining. Shrinking is okay, growing at this point is not. (Well, that is, unless the titty fairy is finally going to pay me a visit--then growing would be okay.) At any rate, measuring is not a regular habit. Just something I will do when I am having a fat day and I want to see if it is all "really in my head." And, conversely, I will measure on a thin day when I want to boost my ego and wear some clothes in my closet that I am really too old to pull off.
The day I put on my favorite jeans and they felt tight I went scurrying for the tape. To my horror I have gained almost an entire inch on my waist since November. Granted, in November, I was training for a marathon and logging over 50 miles a week, but still an inch!
This called for drastic steps. I cut out my daily popcorn with butter and coke. I cut my nightly wine intake to like, oh, every other day. (It is only an inch-- no need to go crazy.) I cut out ALL fastfood. And I upped my workouts. I tried eating less at all meals and only having one snack a day instead of twelve. I was doing pretty good til Satan showed up with his apples.
I am happy to report that as of today though the Samoas are no longer a temptation. I finished off the last box this morning for breakfast. I can resist the thin mints and tagalongs in the cabinent, so tomorrow I should be back on track.
Next year, when Satan rings my bell I will do the same thing I do when the Jehovah Witnesses and Mormons ring my bell.