It’s true: it’s my fault. I control how much I’m going to weigh each Monday. I don’t mean this like “I want to weigh 180 pounds by next Monday” and I magically shed all that excess weight, just that my determination to go for walks or get to the gym, and my will power, say, to keep me from eating a whole bag of ginger snaps and an accompanying quarter gallon of milk (or buying the ginger snaps in the first place!), is pretty much a key indicator of how stepping on the scale Monday AM is going to work out for me.

Which is to say, I was sorta fucked Saturday when I bought the ginger snaps to begin with.

But then we had a mandatory staff meeting at the Bookstore Sunday night, and they fed us pizza, and having been there since 9am (we got out a little after 8, but fortunately we were paid for that time), I scarfed down several slices of Papa John’s pepperoni pizza. Because I was hungry, okay? And while I’d walked to work, true, I opted to take the bus home (because I was tired, okay?)

In any case, I was back at 237 yesterday morning, up a pound and a half from 235.5 the previous week. I can do better. I will do better.

In other news, that thunderstorm Sunday night was wonderful. If I hadn’t been so tired, I probably would’ve clambered out of bed and watched it from the windows. As it was, I just sort of buried my head further in the pillows and crossed my fingers that the cats weren’t pissing the carpet in terror.