It is morning. I think. I didn’t sleep much last night.
It is the cycle of things. My cycle. And not *that* cycle. Like I’d blog about that. Because…yeah. There is just some business that needs minding.
No, it’s my cycle. The cycle that use to be weekly. And then monthly. And then quarterly. I don’t even know the last time I’ve been this…low? I don’t even know that’s what this is. I am certainly functioning.
But the zeal that I have had the last few months is fading just as the snow has completely melted.
The littles are working my next to last nerve. They are antsy for spring too, I think. They are clingy. And fighting with each other. And a constant whine has replaced the cheerful, dulcet tones heard all winter. They disagree with the dinner menu unless it contains ham sandwiches, chicken nuggets, candy, candy corn, syrup or strawberries.
Maybe that’s it. I’ve gotten rid of all the HFCS and they are grumpy and going through withdrawals.
I think…and I may be projecting my insecurities here but…I think that Fat Camp is taking it out of all of us. I have put all of my extra energy into Fat Camp. Which leaves precious little for things like patience and understanding. And the ability to say “no more TV today”. And then have the gumption to follow through.
Personally, I am bored. Not with the exercise portion of Fat Camp because that gives me the strongs and makes me feel like a great big bucket of awesome. I am bored with the eating part. I can make a huge list of all the foods that I miss. Starting with Dr. Pepper and ending with 5 cheese lasagna. I know, I know…everything in moderation. But I don’t think I’m to the point of moderating myself. And I’m not sure I ever have been in that position. I can’t have one cookies, I must have five. That kind of thing.
I’m tired of chicken. And green leafy anything. I desperately miss cheese. And Skittles.
This is hard. I know it’s good for me. But it’s such a change. And these little people are not making it any easier what with their bawling for cheetos and froot loops.
Or…maybe it’s not about the food.
Maybe it’s about 2 weeks until a whole hand birthday. Or maybe it’s because a pound a week isn’t fast enough. And I’m tired of looking at the clothes in my closet. And I’m happier when I’m working.
Or it’s just my cycle.
No, not that cycle.