As I was getting ready for my shower this evening I was reflecting on the emotional week I had. If you have read my last two posts, it is probably no surprise to you that I have been feeling rather melancholy. I have been one big, soppy, blubbery, sobbing, weepy, cornball of a mess. And as I was thinking about the tears I shed while giving Ben a bath on his birthday ("Just look at my beautiful one year old" I thought), and the tears I shed over my parents' wonderful anniversary ("Dad was so happy and lucid that day and mom was glowing"), and the tears over the girl on American Idol who lost her dad only a few days earlier ("How can she sing right now?", and, by the way, I was still crying during the commercial break), and the commercial about the homeless children ("I'll adopt them all!"), and the commercial with the dogs in the humane society ("They can come too!"), I realized I've been even more emotional than usual.
What is my problem? I have always been an emotional person but this is getting loony. Could I have Seasonal Affective Disorder? I don't know. Could it be hormonal? Definitely a possibility.
Whatever the reason, one thing was clear. I must stop eating my depression away. I did a quick tally in my head of all the food I had this weekend. Pizza, cake, and ice cream. But that was for the birthday party, so no big deal, right? But then there was that Parmesan steak and shrimp with garlic mashed potatoes. And the two large packages of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. And then this afternoon there were donuts. With custard. Not to mention the three Captain and Cokes I had on Friday night. Oh yeah, and the french toast and bacon this morning. Hmmm.That's odd. I'm not usually one to eat my worries away.
Well, no big deal. I'll just step on the scale here as long as I'm stripping down for the shower, and see what the damage is. I hauled out the handy-dandy digital scale and stepped right on that bad boy. Um. That can't be right. What? Uh-UH! What the crap is the matter with this damn thing? It says I gained 11 pounds since Thursday morning. Is that even humanly possible? Okay. Don't panic. I pick up the scale and move it to another tile on the floor. Perhaps a more level tile? I wait for it to clear and step on again. HUH? This time it says 6 pounds less than the first reading. How can I weigh 6 pounds less than I did 10 seconds ago? Help me!!!
That's it. I put the scale back in it's spot, wrap a towel around myself (so as to hide my new-found blubber from the hubby) and run up to the second floor to get on my trusty old turn-dial scale that I've had since 1996. I cautiously step on, hold my breath, and look down. Whew! Thank the foody gods! I only gained a pound. One pound. I can live with that. I knew I always liked this scale for a reason. It is smart! It is loyal! And, it is right!!! Right? Yes! It is right! HA!
I think it is time to celebrate! I wonder if we have anymore donuts left.