I’m writing from Maui. I understand it’s been a long winter, so if you have any impulse to slap me for being here, I do understand and prefer you do it on my arse. Thank you.
My will to eat healthy has been having an all-out battle with my will to ‘let it all go because I’m on vacation.’ What I fear I’ll regret is letting myself be eaten up (pun intended) with worry about it instead of being a carefree soul on vacation.
The first couple of days, I ate healthy and even went to the gym here. There were other insane weirdos there too. I fixed them with my steely (sweaty) gaze and nodded in silent agreement as if saying, “Yer damn right our glutes don’t get a vacation. Carry on, soldier.”
If memory serves, that was the last time I recall having any resolve. Since then, I’ve been handed several Lava Flows. Do I bat it aside and declare, “I don’t think so. Good day, sir. I said good day!” as I gesture towards my shrinking torso? Absolutely not. Rather, I clutch at it with my greedy paws then suckle the coconut cream from the fresh pineapple completely nonplussed as the juice runs down my chin.
While I’d like to say that it’s easy and breezy to say, “Aww, it’s fine. I’m on vacation. You only live once,” it’s really not. I take this shit seriously and when I do indulge, I end up thinking, “Aww, GD it. There’s another few pounds I’ll have to lose again.”
AGH! I’m on vacation. I feel ungrateful and dickish for spilling out the contents of my head. I should’ve left the contents at airport security with all the crap they confiscate from people. Perhaps I’ll take some time breathing deeply and focusing on being in the moment. If that doesn’t work, I’ll be snorkeling if you need me.
There’s no scale here so no number updates til next week. I’m just soooo broken up about that. 😉