I spent 18 hours working this past Wednesday- and in the course of those 18 hours I managed to eat the equivalent of one cake. It was our production coordinator's birthday and one cupcake lead to another, lead to a slice of cake and 18 sugar crazed hours later I realized I'd hit rock bottom. True, I like to think I follow Mae West in believing "to much of a good thing is fabulous" (or never enough), but until I develop the metabolism of a Swedish super model I'm going to have to cut some corners. And so, much to my horror, I decided to go back on Weight Watchers. Not sure if I'll actually go to the meetings- but I have all the books and know the rules so I guess I'm back on WW in the mental sense vs. The "here's my $16, now weigh me in front of everybody" sense. Because he knows what to say the fellow I'm dating was quick to point out I didn't need to loose weight (bonus points Peter), but it's not really for anyone but me. I want to be able to fit into even my fat pants without a muffin top of fat pouring out- and hopefully going back on WW will lead to it.
