I have said it before, and I will no doubt say it again: I am a very bad blogger. I don't take the time to come up with witticisms anymore for an audience of two (sorry, Dan!), and I don't have a niche like music or film around which I can neatly organize a daily post. Most of all, I just despise writing about myself.
I used to love to keep a diary. I have a Rubbermaid box full of journals I kept from the age of 8 (The awesomeness of Michael Jackson! The cuteness of myriad teenage boys named Chad/Brad! The high drama of sisterly spats!) until I graduated from college. Somewhere along the line, though, my entries became less frequent and sparser because I never could escape the sense of their having an audience beyond just me.
So fast forward to now, when I have this vechicle to post journal entries where everyone can see them, and I don't like that either. You just can't please some people. Anyway, all of this is leading up to the fact that I just feel like posting something personal today, so judge if you must.
This has been a strange but really great couple of years for me. Aside from tiny comments here or there, I have never really wanted to talk about my weight loss on my blog. This is notable and possibly pathological because it's been the most completely transformative experience of my life. I am feeling better inside and out than I have, well, ever. Honestly, though, the biggest benefit has been learning that I have this enormous store of inner strength that I can harness to do something I set my mind to. Who knew?
I realize that I'm never going to be a beauty. Sometimes I regret that I'll never be able to relive my youth as this more confident, and let's face it, people -- much sexier -- person that I am now. (Oh, the adventures I could have had!) I am still insecure and worry too much about what other people are thinking and feeling. On top of all that, imagine my horror that even after losing over 100 pounds, I still cannot do math in my head!
But wow, I am one strong-ass motherfucker.
