My problem with writing is that I never know where to start.  I tend to come to an idea right in the middle.  A flash of something exciting; a moment in time that could be meaningful.

How do I find the beginning of that idea?  Where did that moment come from?  This is where I fall down.  But then I thought, Maybe that is the beginning.

Who says you can’t start right in the middle!?  Probably someone, but what do they know!

I haven’t been thinking about writing much these days anyway because I have a nemesis.  An evil being that is dragging me down and plans to kill me!  This nemesis is also known as the 50 pounds of flab I’ve been dragging around with me. Blurgh!

I never had a problem with my weight.  I grew up thin, I didn’t work out and I was able to eat whatever I wanted and never gain weight.  Yes, I was one of them.  However, around the age of 26 I started to go to the gym because I was getting a  bit soft.

Then … I started working at home … *sigh*

Working at home was great! It had a lot of good points.  Me taking care of myself wasn’t one of them.  I stopped going to the gym.  I met a wonderful guy and since I was making good money we ate out a lot.

I started gaining weight but didn’t really notice.  I’m not sure how I didn’t notice because at some point my clothes stopped fitting and even to this day I wear my hubby’s t-shirts because I refuse to buy new clothes.  Denial?

The most annoying part of being overweight at this point is that some part of my brain still pictures myself as I was 5 years ago.  Then I’ll be walking past a store front and catch sight of myself in the windows,  do a double take, scream out HOLY SHIT IS THAT ME?!, feel terrible and go home and eat some chocolate.

I remember the first time I really saw myself as chubby.  The place I was living had a bathroom mirror that was so high on the wall that I could only really see my head.  My friend had a baby and we went out to visit her in Calgary.  It was in her bathroom that I came face to flab with the horrible truth.  She had a mirror that was placed so you could actually see yourself and I remember just staring at my boobs and my tummy.  Where did all that fat come from?

I’m telling you this, cyber-world, because maybe if I put something out there I will be more motivated to do something about it.

I can almost live with not being able to fit in my clothes.  I can’t live with my knees hurting, my back hurting, running out of breath going up the stairs, seeing my new underwear and thinking it’s a towel.

It’s time to sort this shit out!