Baby on the Weigh

Day 16
Mood: 6, pushing 7 even though it’s raining and cold

I would save so much time if I weren’t such a dork.

I have wasted years of my life fretting over things that are just not that important. Take this weight gain, for example. Yes, I am disappointed that I haven’t figured out the formula for successful weight maintenance, and no I do not wish to consider this my new ‘goal’ weight. Sitting here now, 2 days removed from the weekend rant, I can approach this logically. I think if I could remember this, and keep from exploding over every transgression, I’d do better. I’d feel better, I’d recover quicker, and I’d have less fallout. These angry thoughts don’t help me discover the path in, and they certainly don’t point to the way out. The potholes in my program remain, and every time I circle the block, my body gets a little further out of alignment.

There is a perfectionist streak in me, which I suspect is part of the problem. I have fantasies of never touching a Reese’s miniature again, but I grow weak when they’re sitting in front of me. I freeze, my brain turns off, and I cave. Then I spend days punching myself out over it. Once I’ve diverged on the Road Less Travelled, I burn my map in protest, pluck out my eyes and then sit stewing on a log, wondering why I can’t find my way back.

WW says that I should learn from these mistakes, and create ‘hedges’ to protect myself from the soft spots in my brain. Okay, but what about the repeat offenses? Isn’t there some threshold after which you just can’t hear yourself say ‘Oops, Self. I’m sorry…Again’? I know that I'm an impatient person, and whatever is true about me with others goes double when I'm dealing with myself.

I prefer to think about life in terms of obstacles, and how each time I overcome one, I become stronger. Every time I walk by the candy dish and keep my hands away, I’ve won, and I’ve made the next time easier. My weight goes down, my clothes fit better, the octopus retreats and life improves.

But the urge to indulge never gets easy, and it certainly never goes away. And I can’t seem to apply the same ‘each time makes me better’ logic to the falters. Every time I trip, I collapse, and then I descend into a Scarlet Letter-like flagellation. What’s wrong with me? Why do I do this? Look how much harder I’ve made it for myself to get back down. Clearly I’m not committed to weight loss.

Writing it all down, I see the absurdity of it. My mistakes have already happened, and there’s no way to undo them. I really have no choice but to walk away and take what I can from the experience. So that is the new goal. I accept that I am not perfect. I understand the unfairness of expecting to live my whole life without a food error. There is no such thing as Zero Tolerance eating.

And with these pronouncements comes a truth. I cannot indulge without consequences, because the sweetness in the treat triggers The Beast. I really do feel better below 150, and that’s where I want to be. So if I’m headed down there, I need to be active in pursuing that goal. I can’t sit at my desk eating malted milk balls and wondering why my diet isn’t working.

I want to build more things, like make a list of what I can and cannot eat, and the times I’m permitted to feed myself, making everything else off limits. But I live in this world, and it’s unrealistic to assume the Buddhist Monk diet of fish & rice. I don’t eat enough carbs anymore, and anyway, robes make me look fat.

But I’m going to be a grown-up about this, or at least make a plan to grow up. I can’t be a baby anymore. I must assume responsibility. I’m good at assuming responsibility. It’s just a matter of tweaking the job description a little. After 17 years in Human Resources, I think I can do that.

A the B(aby No More. Or, at least until next time.)

Eating Stealthy

Day 14
Mood: 5/10, and I’m being generous here.

This stinks.

I want to say that WW stinks, and my food addiction stinks and the unmentionable weirdness in my life stinks. But those are all by-products. What really stinks is my discipline. My discipline and my focus, both of which have gone hurling out the window and down to the curb, crushed by the extra weight I have carried since Christmas.

After last Saturday’s weigh-in at 152.75, I was inexplicably up to 155.50 on Monday, even though Sat & Sun were virtuously clean, food-wise. I was down to 154 by Tuesday, but then when Wednesday hit and I was still above the 153 fat mark, I lost my cool, and I never recovered. This morning, I’m back at 156, and there’s not a PMS day in sight for over a week.

I don’t think I can officially call it Holiday Weight, especially since I don’t celebrate Christmas in any real way (read: with food). Howard and I ate through December pretty much the way we always do; lots of vegetables, lean protein, low-fat popcorn at night. In any case, even if I had over-canape’d myself at the buffet, that was four months ago. I’ve been hiding behind my excuses, the weather, and long sweaters for 16 weeks. I have even sunk into that Nastyland-rationalization. Maybe I’m not meant to be 147 pounds. Maybe I’m stuck here in the low (MID!) 150s for good.

Well, sure I’m stuck here: stuck until my eating continues out of control for another month and I find myself dancing with the high 150s. How much longer until I can’t wear my jeans or I’m forced to buy new clothes because my wardrobe is Too Snug For Work?

I wish that my weakness lay in some common WW territory: I have to cook for a skinny husband who won’t eat ‘diet food’. Or that I traveled for work, and I can’t get good food on the road. Or I’ve been run over by a truck and my wheelchair doesn’t fit into the StairMaster. No, my malady is mine alone. My disease lurks in the trenches of my subconscious, down in the dino-brain between the awe of money and the fear of death.

I eat bad things when I’m alone.

I do this, even when I’m not hungry, even when I’m already sporting seam marks from my clothes, and even when I don’t like what I’m eating. I’m like a drunk in a hotel room with an complimentary mini-bar. If there’s free food, I’ll eat it.

Somewhere, ‘back there’, I was hungry all the time. Or maybe not hungry, but not able to eat when I wanted to. Or maybe ate whenever I needed it, but never allowed to indulge. I’m guessing here, because I honestly don’t know. We had nothing growing up. Everything was measured, and we didn’t eat leftovers because there never were any. Bologna sandwiches were a common dinner, and soup was served year round. But I can’t reasonably blame No Snacks In The House on my dysfunction. Anyway, I didn’t even know that was unusual until someone in my Sunday School class told a story about a ‘poor needy’ family who had sandwiches for dinner, and I realized that she could have been talking about me.

I do remember times growing up that I was really uncomfortably underfed, but most of that was after I moved away from home. Once I had $6 to last me 3 weeks until I got my first paycheck of the summer. I bought Ramen noodles at ten-for-a-dollar, broke each package in half and ate one ‘piece’ for breakfast and one for dinner. I skipped lunch (couldn’t afford it) and trolled the break rooms in the afternoons for post-meeting leftovers. I walked home through some not-so-cool neighborhoods, because I didn’t have the bus fare to get home the ‘luxury’ way.

Another time I had some car problem and it wrecked my budget for the winter. I bought a family-sized bag of instant oatmeal and gigantic box of brown sugar and ate that 2 or 3 times a day for over a month. When my roommate gave me a jar of peanut butter, claiming that she didn’t like ‘the creamy kind’, I nearly wept with joy. I stole a sleeve of saltines from a different roommate and hid the loot in my room, spreading transparent layers of peanut butter over a single cracker every night, to stretch it out. When I ran out of crackers, I pilfered a spoon and fed my habit straight from the jar.

But that’s just Growing Up stuff; learning about money management the hard way. I don’t think I can pin my issues on peanut butter and fake noodles--though I didn’t eat either for many years after that. I think it’s just the mis-wire in my brain, that I don’t ‘know’ where my next meal is coming from, or that it will ever come, and so I’d better down whatever I can slink off with.

It’s the same reason why I haven’t purchased anything of substance for years—if ever. I don’t know when I’m going to lose my job, or get all my money taken away by some mean-spirited former live-in lover, or forget to turn in a tax document and have my bank accounts siphoned off by the IRS (this latter has never happened). When X and I had to buy a second car to get me to work, I paid cash for a used mini-van and then was mean to him for weeks afterwards. We had effectively tripled our income, but I couldn’t rest until every cent was replaced and resting in the savings account.

So okay, if this is who I am, then what do I do? Do I accept this about myself and say good-bye to the 140s forever? But then I can’t explain how I was able to maintain that beautiful position for months. Do I dig into the nethers of my mind, figure out why I’m such a psycho about dollars and donuts, and then work to weed it out of me? I don’t think there’s a shrink out there who could un-truffle that one. I don’t even know what it is; how would she?

Maybe I just put myself into places where I’m never alone, or if I am, there’s no food anywhere. If I have to work late, I schlep to the library. If I’m home first, I walk laps around the house until someone comes home. I make the house ingredients-only, so if I want to pad the octopus, I have to make something. That ought to fix it: I’m as lazy as I am stealth when it comes to food. If it ain’t made, don’t eat it. That’s me. If I even have to sprinkle fat-free cheese into a wrap, I’ll blow it off. Too much trouble.

Too much pain. Today I met a friend for lunch. I hadn’t seen him in years, and the last time we were together, I was at my fully fatted 250+. Yet I nearly cancelled because I’m carrying 9 extra pounds, I’m in my size 7 juniors , and I look bigger.

He would never have known-from his perspective, I’m down 90 pounds and 11 sizes. But I came close to collapse, worrying about what he’d say when he saw my octopus hanging over my jeans. Never mind that he has a new baby and that he called me ‘slim’ when he saw me. I knew I was different, even if he didn’t. I knew it, I did this to myself, and that has made all the difference.

This crap-tacular attitude won’t help, I know. I’ll fix it. I just have to work it out. And work out. And give up my alone time, because clearly that is a trigger. Guess it’s time to find the ‘safety’ and snap it back on.

A the W(TF?)

I Can See Clearly Now

Day 8

Weight 152.75

Mood: Healed

My mood lifted on Friday morning. After 2 weeks of hard labor in the Progesterone-depleted desert, I’ve emerged. I’ve had a couple of hiccups, but I can tell that I’m better able to handle the Life’s Little Moguls with less stress. I made it through an intense work week, I managed to get DS off for his weekend with X without crying (in front of him), and I’ve started kissing Howard again. I didn’t even mind it too much that Maria the Spectacular wasn’t at Weight Watchers this week. The Dark Days have passed.

I lost all 3 of the Period Pounds and even succeeded in shaving off an extra 0.25 for good behavior. I’m still hosting the ‘wiggles’ at the waist line, but I can see my figuring returning, and last night I wore my size 3s for Married Night Out. Good times.

I must keep writing. Writing records my daily emotions, and that gives me the “in” I need to see the bad days and then figure out how to prune them. And exercise could help. Keeping active would give me something to do other than count Howard’s battle scars and behave like an exposed nerve wrapped around a dentist’s drill.

I’ve been thinking for days about where to go from here. I want to plot out a plan to Roto-Rooter the ‘angries’ out of me, or to find enough peace inside my swirling self to acknowledge the mood swings and accept them with a laugh. I keep analyzing and bargaining and calculating, and nothing sounds good.

So I’ve decided to give up. Rather than fret or predict or regret, I’m just going to Be. I’m going to enjoy my good mood. There’s really nothing else to do anyway, other than push out my good mood by worrying about the carnage from next month’s free fall. Worrying about its inevitable onset will only prolong the agony. And nobody wants that. Just ask Howard.

A the G(uess Who Went to Yoga This Morning?)

PS-Holy Crap! 350 words!

The Agony of The Treat

Wednesday

Weight: 156

Mood: stormy

I’m on Day 4 here, and I’m starting to think that this extra weight will stay with me. I managed to have a perfect day yesterday-not even a foray into the Snickers mini’s. That was tough, let me tell you. At about 3pm yesterday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk with my head in my hands, my hands in my hair, and my body rocking while I sang old gospel songs to distract myself. Oh, Lawdy, make this pain a-go away.

I’m pretty sure that the guy who sits in front of me thinks I’m a raving lunatic. It’s enough that I talk to myself all day long, grumbling about vendors, testing out presentation language and reading spreadsheets aloud, as if that will help me digest the data. But now I’m actually in a faux-fetal position in my chair, moaning and holding myself. Call the cops, Vinnie, She’s done gone to the Bad Place.

I’m telling you, sitting there and keeping myself from scavenging the empty offices with Known Candy Supplies was a physical pain. I don’t ever have to wonder whether I have a junk food addiction. If there had been a cigarette and a pay phone nearby, I would have been Meg Ryan in “When a Man Loves a Woman.” I even have the hairy-man equivalent of Andy Garcia at home to prove it.

Anyway, so I ground my way through ‘happy hour’, as it were, had a regular dinner and did not snack at all post-DS bed time, except for my standard popcorn, AND STILL there is no movement on the scale. I am telling you, when I get back down to 147, I am either going to strap bathroom scales to my shoes or never, ever get on a scale again. My ego is far too dependent upon That Number. I am a slave to Where the Needle Stands.

I’m still lying in bed at night, and it’s starting to catch up. I yawned my way through most of the afternoon. Lucky for me, there were no peanuts sticking to my fillings.

Thursday (Day 5)

Weight: 154.50

Mood: Amused Agitation

I really have no idea why I’m so stupid.

Yesterday, I’m blathering on about how the weight has stuck to me, and now this morning, half of it is gone. I had another great day yesterday, and that’s helped, I’m sure. But I didn’t make it to yoga class tonight, so I’m down on my exercise for the week. I really needed that class, too. I seem to be taking a long time to get out of post-PMS Trauma this month. I have to find a way to regulate myself. The weight comes off. It always does.

So the bulge is down today, and I definitely have a flatter ‘fit & finish’ now. I spent the day in Size 5s with a regular shirt (vs. the longer than life variety I’ve been wearing lately), and I did ok. I was hungry all afternoon, but I staved it off, and now here I am. I’m almost looking forward to tomorrow’s weigh-in

I really wish I could bottle up how I feel right now, and then sprinkle it over myself when I’m faced with free food. I really like how I feel when I don’t eat. Not in the ‘I only eat tomatoes and water until I die’ way, mind you. There is a clean, pure, disciplined feeling I have in my insides when I’m between meals, I know my stomach is empty, and I’m powering my way through the hours. I feel strong then. Really strong and in control of myself. That’s what I have to remember. No amount of peanut butter Twix will make me feel that way.

Despite 2 years of discipline, I still view food as reward, punishment, comforter and pimp. Not to mention the reason why I sometimes look like I’m smuggling scrambled eggs under my pants. So maybe in addition to writing down what I plan to eat each day , I should write down when. Maybe if I only eat when I’m ‘supposed’ to, I won’t be tempted to eat when I can. It’s worth a shot. And it might be just the thing I need to bring out those itty bitty shorts and not worry that my can is falling out of the back end.

A the S(icko)

734 words, but hey, I covered 2 days. I’m starting to get into the challenge of Getting My Idea Across Without Yammering Forever. So far, so good. But I’m not committing to anything until after next month’s PMS.

PS-773 words. Oops. Aw, who cares. At least I’m not eating.

DeManic Monday

General mood: 5 (of 10)
Weight: 156
Tuesday’s feeling: wiped
Wednesday's feeling: clearing

There’s a day every month when my body just comes along for the ride. That was Monday. I managed to get through everything and had a productive day at work, but that caffeine headache drilled a hole into the right side of my brain and then they turned on the A/C, since it was above 40 degrees outside (which apparently constitutes ‘summer’ in Chicago now), so I froze to death all afternoon.

But DS and I had a great evening, even if I was about as interesting as toast crumbs. DS is enthralled by cuckoo clocks right now. The Awesome In-Laws have a cuckoo clock in their kitchen, and DS would bolt up from whatever he was doing to watch the ‘penguin’ (that’s what he calls the cuckoo) come out and sing. He’s so into them that I’m thinking of getting him his own cuckoo clock for his birthday.

Of course I’ve since discovered that if you get an authentic Black Forest chalet, the cost can quickly run into the hundreds. As DS has the usual kindergartner's attention span, I wonder if he’ll watch it for a few days and then grow bored with it. Or worse, want us to turn it off, because the ‘penguin’s’ chirping is interfering with his video games. No, not that! Perish the thought!

Anyway, since he’s completely into them now, he may abandon them by the time his birthday rolls around in May. But in the mean time, he spends his evenings previewing cuckoo clock ‘videos’ and remarking on whether they have dancers, whether the bird is brown or white, how much music they offer, and if they have a beer-guzzling lederhosen dude on the front. All important things in selecting the right clock. Guess which one of us will be the cuckoo if this keeps up much longer?

Today, Day 3, is better. I’m no longer at the sneezy end of Life's Dustmop. I’m still a little dishrag-y and I think my evening cappuccino was a ‘regular’ and not a ‘decaf’, since I was in bed a long time before I fell asleep. It was either that, or my homework is far more fascinating to me than I realized. I kept thinking about one-tailed hypothesis testing (not nearly as interesting as it sounds) and when I closed my eyes, I saw bell curves. But I can feel my energy returning. I might even take a walk tonight after work. It’s going to be in the 60s this evening, and we’re all so sick of looking at the inside of the house that I think a skip to the park may be in order. Of course Lynda the Super Nanny is so good about getting DS outside, and Karl (Nanny husband) is so keen on making DS into an English soccer sensation that my little angel may be dead tired by the time he’s returned to me tonight. That’s ok. That’s what strollers are for.

Speaking of that, I noticed over the weekend that he refers to cookies as ‘biscuits’. I will have to fix that before some bully sneers at him during lunch, but for now it is so adorable. My little Yankee boy is referring to Nutter Butters as biscuits. Now if only I could figure out what he means by ‘markers’. Any Brits out there who can help me? Even Lynda doesn’t know. It’s some secret code, and he really likes them, but I can’t get enough of a description out of him to provide the treat. I know they’re small, colorful and soft. And they’re not marshmallows. When I suggested that last night, DS looked at me as if I had leprosy. Mom! Not Marshmallows. MARKERS! Sure. I’ll get right on that. As soon as we have the Universal Translator installed. Guess the new roof will have to wait.

A the S(till Fat, but Improving)

PS-659 words!

Shrinking Responsibility

In the interest of getting back to writing, and to give myself something voluntary to do (this), I’ve decided to work on short posts. I know, HA, HA HA. Believe me, I’m laughing right along with you. Me write short? That’s a Zero on the scale of “Likely to Happen”. But it’s my goal, and anyway, I miss writing like I miss being thin, and so perhaps these two things will help each other.

As a motivator, and to give myself something to write that is (1) short and (2) interesting, and also possibly (3) give my husband a reason to get down off of the roof and put the grapefruit knife back in the drawer, I’ve decided to track my daily mood and weight from the beginning to the end of a cycle. I have suspicions that my PMS has now grown to an all-time length of 12 days. When I add the 6 or 7 days of my period (yup, a full week. Ain’t that sweet…), that gives me roughly 19 days out of 29 that I’m feeling gross, fat, icky, cranky, tired, and/or generally ill at ease with the world. And while I appreciate all the ‘material’ that Feeling Off gives me, I have to admit that this is a long time, even for me, to be sideways with life.

I’ve started by writing in the morning, since I seem to be more even then. If I don’t get a good reading, I’ll switch over to evening check-in next month. At the end of the month, I’m going to make up some charts (geek!) and a few graphs (double geek!) to see what my average feeling is over the cycle, how many days I really do feel Off, and if there’s anything going on day-to-day that might be triggering it other than my 40-something hormones. I’ll post it all, so you can laugh at me while I try to fit my life on a histogram and a bell curve with standard deviations.

I’m taking charge of my life! Well no, that’s probably overstating. What I’m really doing is documenting how many ways I’m not in charge. But you can’t change what you don’t track, and really, I’m determined to fix my moods. I probably won’t splay everything out here, particularly as I get close to the end of the cycle and I start shoving Howard back up on the roof, but I’ll give as much as I can. My hope is that eventually I’ll just come to accept that this is the way of things for now, expect that my emotions start peeling off of me around Day 18 and take the Zen approach. I have all kinds of things going on in my life right now relative to acceptance and Zen and Living Right Now. But of course, there’s no place to put that in a short post that’s about something else.

As a caveat insert here, let me tell you that my life is full. I don’t feel overwhelmed, but perhaps that’s because I don’t have time to stop and think about what all is going on. And it’s not like there’s a lot. Work is busy while I’m there, but I manage to get most of my work done during regular hours (8-5:30, with a rare lunch break). I have started staying late on Wednesday nights (7pm), since that’s Boys Night Out with Howard and DS. I’ve discovered that I cannot be alone in the house, because if I am, I turn into Fat Lady Eating Machine. So, to alleviate some of that stress and some of that problem, I’m just staying at work until I know the boys are on their way home.

Plus, I may start staying late on Thursdays, since there is a great yoga class with an awesome teacher that I’d like to do. It’s really hard to find true Yoga instructors in Wheaton. Most of the yoga teachers here in the west Chicago suburbs are Pilates instructors in (weak) disguise. They go too fast, they talk too much, and they are incapable of doing a yoga class without slipping some Pilates/core/suck-in-your-stomach jazz into the practice. I like, slow, controlled, hold-the-pose yoga. I have decent strength and balance, thanks to years of martial arts and tennis, but I’m about as flexible as a Popsicle stick, and so I need to concentrate when I’m stretching. If someone is yakking about all the benefits while I’m trying to quiet the screams in my hamstrings, well, let’s just say that I’m probably not going to relax. Yesterday I actually rolled my eyes during one instructor’s blather about standing on a block to improve your balance. Who cares what you think? That’s what After Class is for. Ah, hormones. Clearly no good.

Anyway, since I’ve found this class and this instructor that I like so well, it might be worth it to me to lose an evening with my family, in order to be civilized enough the rest of the week so that they’ll want me around.

However, that aside, I’m not working many weekends, and while school is intense, it’s manageable too. I do my homework after DS goes to bed, around 8:30, and I usually finish up some time around 10pm. I do need 4 or 5 nights to get it all in, but I usually have one evening a week (generally on Fridays) where I don’t have anything due, and I can relax and do nothing…Though really, what I do is catch up on the chores I’ve not been able to do all week while I’m building confidence intervals and writing papers. I don’t like being idle. I picked that up from a little snippet from Gone With The Wind, where Scarlett remembers her mother, and how her hands were never idle. I've worked for years to build habits that keep me constantly moving and productive.

My recent foray into Living in the Moment calls for quite a bit of stillness, however, and I’ve discovered that I like it. I prefer to talk less, and to move less, and to BE where I am, rather than simply be there and think about other things. I’m more centered, happier, and definitely more relaxed. But that was last week. It’s easy to be Zen when you’re lounging by the pool, watching your husband’s folks roll around in being grandparents and getting an utterly delicious fill of Being With DS. Taking it back with me is another thing, and since I’ve never been low-key, it is a struggle. But I am determined to calm down.

I WILL DEFEAT THE ANGER, DAMMIT!

Kidding. But it is how I feel. And sometimes it’s so hard to get out of my head and just be. But when I am there, wow…it is a great, great thing.

So I think I was right when I said that my life was full. Unless I get up earlier in the morning (insert sardonic cackle here), I haven’t time for exercise beyond the 2 yoga classes a week (Sunday mornings is the other one), and I have no hobbies. School is my hobby. Work is my filler, Family is my priority, and Weight Watchers is an old friend who is waiting for me to call her. Well, I’m dialing.

I just came off of a 1-week trip to Florida/Paradise with my smashingly awesome in-laws, so really, I have no reason to be stressed. Ah, but Grasshopper needs no reason—only an opening and POW! We’re right back to where we were, pummeling vendors at work, snarling at my husband, and weeping at the scales.

Hmmm. Looking this over, I think that tracking my weight and my moods probably won’t do anything for my psychotic tendencies, except give Howard a record of my bad behavior. But hey, it might help, and anyway, it’ll be fun, I’ll get to write every day, and I’ll get to share some of the less caustic musings out here. And as we all know, writing about stress alleviates it somehow. Or at least it makes it funny. Here’s hoping.

I don’t plan to post every day, even though I’m writing every day. My expectation is that if I start writing a comment that is too long to get down on paper in 15 mins (my allotted time for plotting & tracking), then I’ll type it out and post it here. I don’t want to commit to anything regular, since I haven’t posted in ages, but I really do want to bring it out here and share it.

Day 1: April 13, 2008 (Sunday)
General mood (scale 1-10): 6
Weight 156 pounds
Evaluation of today: Sucky

Yep, I’m up 9 pounds from my goal weight. The 3-pound fairy has come to call; I always jump 3 pounds on the day my period starts, and there it is. Yesterday I weighed 153. No big prize for that, either. I’ve been stuck at 153 for a month, and no amount of water guzzling, pickle eating or general suffering between meals has chiseled off those 6 pounds. And now I have 9. I know these 3 won’t last. They stick stubbornly to the octopus for the duration of my period, and then they vanish, all at once, on the last day. So it’s 6, but today it’s 9, and I feel every ounce.

On a good note, I think I know part of the reason that I couldn’t drop back down to 147 despite all my efforts. Apart from the obvious lack of exercise, and my refusal to stop eating Hershey’s miniatures, I think it’s the Niacin. I started taking Niacin (Vitamin B-3) about a month ago, when Awesome Boss recommended it. My good cholesterol was just a wee bit low last year (38 when it should have been above 39), and he said that taking Niacin would boost it. Plus, Niacin does this wild thing where it ‘flushes’ you, by opening up your blood vessels and rushing your blood around so that you look like you spent the weekend at a Swim-up Bar in Cancun. It's supposed to be really good for your heart. I like healthy organs! bought some Niacin, popped a 500 mg tablet into my mouth and waited.

I flushed all right, and I got itchy and blotchy and really, really hot. But I liked it, and it was cool to see something at work in my body, so I kept at it. In fact, I liked it so much that I started taking it twice a day. When I got a time-released style in Florida and didn’t flush at all, I felt completely cheated. I got home and the first thing I did was down the Niacin. I flushed and all was good.

Sure enough, at my last physical, my good cholesterol had jumped into the 60s. BUT my overall cholesterol, which had been 123 last year is now 174. AND my left side was hard and kind of hurting. I looked up Niacin on the internet (OK, Wikipedia) and it mentions that Niacin blocks the breakdown of fat in your body. For those (MEN) with seriously low good cholesterol, it’s sometimes prescribed to aid in the buildup. And guess what? If you take it and you don’t’ really need it, you can do liver damage BECAUSE THE NIACIN WON’T LET YOUR BODY BREAK DOWN ITS FAT. It is generally not recommended for women.

Ok, then. So I chucked it all, and I have been downing water until I’m leaking, trying to aid my liver in getting back to normal. It was only a month, and I was still below the lowest prescription level, but still…so uncool to muck with the liver. It’s been 2 days and the hardness is waning. It’s less tender too, but it hasn’t gone away completely. I’ve really cut back on my coffee, so I can concentrate on the water and in getting my body back to normal. but now of course I have a caffeine headache. I’m such a moron. No more flushing for me.

And clearly it’s not only the Niacin that’s preventing me from losing the weight. But I have tossed all the B-3 into the trash. Plus, now it’s Day 1, and my chocolate cravings have completely vanished. They appear like clockwork right around Day 21 and hound me without reprieve for 8 days until my period starts. Then they check out, take a 21-day cruise, and if they meet me at the grocery store, they pretend they don’t know me. It’s so odd. I really wish I could remember that they’re temporary and that the craving is not real. But so far, and ever since December, they take me over. I’m hopeful that writing this down and confronting them head on (with mouth closed!) will help.

Concluding thoughts-Writing short will be a much bigger challenge than I thought. I may have to post soon, just to see if I can keep it under 500 words.

A the L(ong and Less Lean)