I did intend to blog yesterday, I swear it. But I'm throwing myself off certain days by writing my banned book reports during the day, and putting it in the posting queue for later in the month. So I write this long post about something substantial, and then I feel pooped out and tired of blogging. Also, yesterday I actually did begin a post, and it ended up being about football, and I realized that I had nothing new to say about it. (Except that I was my league's point leader in week 1, not that that actually means anything. It's a head-to-head league, after all. But embarrassingly, I did give myself a trophy for that. I had already made trophies for week 1, and I hadn't realized how weird it was going to be to award myself one. Oh well.) And I didn't want to blather on about it, because I realize that probably at least half my reading audience could give two figs about football, and the other half that does care I'd already spent some time talking to about the first week. Okay, I might be exaggerating that half thing. I do think I have more than 4 readers. But seriously, there are maybe 5 people who care about such things, and three of them are in the league with me. So it seemed silly to talk about it any more. I can't promise this will be a football-free zone, because it won't. But I'll try to only say meaningful things. There's nothing meaningful to say after a week of football, except that the Bears are going nowhere this season.
No, I'm done. I swear.
I actually began this post with the intention of writing about the non-diet diet. I was reading and commenting on my sister's post last night, and felt like I might have more to say about the subject. I'm in this weird place in my life (weird, because it's been ages since I've felt this way about food...probably since about 2001) where I'm not obsessed with food. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a foodie, and if I could eat dinner out every night of the week, I would. But I mean that I don't worry about every single thing I put in my mouth. And I've found that sometimes, what I put in is very very bad for me, and sometimes, it's not. I actually eat more, but less, if that makes sense. I'm not crazy about portions like I was on WW, so I'm eating more. But I'm also not feeling that delicious and awful feeling of breaking the rules when I eat a cookie, or an ice cream sandwich. That doesn't mean those things are less tempting (although, I'm not tempted so much by sweets, which my comment over at Kate's pointed out), or that it means that I've suddenly lost the desire to eat them by letting myself eat them. No, it's just that it doesn't worry me. I've never been a compulsive eater, but on WW, it can feel like eating things that taste good is a compulsion, because you're eating so much tasteless crap, in such small quantities. At least, I was. So I've lost that, at least.
I'm not sure if I'm explaining this right, because it's kind of hard to figure it out, as it is. But it's like, there's all this pressure removed. If I want to eat a chicken potpie, I can eat one. And not feel guilty. I've let that guilt go; not that it went overnight, mind you, but if it's there right now, it's barely there. And god almighty, does it feel good. I'm still fretting about my weight, so it's not all gone, but I'm working on that one too. I know the two things should be connected in my head, and they sort of are, but I know I can't go back to that diet thing ever again. I know I can't go back to feeling naughty every time I eat something with fat in it. I know I don't want to. If that means extra poundage, I'll have to work on learning to love myself as I am. Because after a small initial weight gain from the not dieting, I've lost a few pounds unintentionally and seem to have stabilized at this weight. We'll see where I am in another three months, but right now, I feel this strange freedom. I can't even tell you. It's so nice. It's so nice to not worry about it anymore.
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