Regret, Clothes, Bodyweight and Christmas Food Crack.

Yeah, start a journal! ‘Cause then you can write, as opposed to… not writing, I suppose.

It was supposed to be easier than this. When I thought about starting a journal, I came up with lots of ideas for topics. Clearly should have written them down. I have nothing. Except a fruit mince pie.

I eat far too many of them at this time of year. I think it is an “Eat as many as possible while you can” thing. I don’t really know why they appeal so much. They have sultanas in them.

I *hate* sultanas.

This is absurd. Perhaps it is the unspeakably large sugar content? Really. I can feel the sugar crusting on my teeth as I bite in. I really don’t know.

Anyway, back to my lack of topic…

I don’t want to not have an entry, because that will just mean that tomorrow I won’t post either, because I don’t really need to post every day… And suddenly I end up with 7 entries and a cyber-musty journal that is nearly empty. Because I’ve never thrown myself into a task only to get bored or not continue with it – No! Never!

Except for when I decided that I really ought to join the gym. Those three times. It wasn’t so bad though. I only joined for a three month period, so it wasn’t like I was wasting a good ten months of gym membership, just 1 month’s worth. Three times.

Perhaps this is what people would call commitment issues? I tend to regard it as laziness, but it’d be nice to blame it on some sort of therapy thing.

For a while I was really aware of my appearance – size wise. I had decided I was fat (or larger than I actually was), and thus had to wear larger clothes. It was quite odd. I never got as far as dieting, or proper exercise – that would involve willpower and expending energy, and I wasn’t that concerned about my weight.

One day, I looked in the mirror, and realised that I wasn’t fat, I just wore ill-fitting clothes. And all my concern over my appearance vanished. Which was handy, ’cause then I could wear jeans that weren’t going to do that always attractive bum crack thing.

Occasionally I become self-concious of my thighs, but realise that in order to make them smaller I would have to exercise or re-join the gym, and suddenly they don’t look so bad.

Really, laziness does wonders for my self esteem.

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