This is the second time in two weeks that I've gotten to 211
It's like there is a block here. A brick wall. A policeman with a stop sign yelling "go no further!"
And the last two weeks isn't the only time that 211 has been a hurdle.
The summer I turned 40. On Jenny Craig. I got to 211 and then stopped.
Or started - depends on how you look at it.
Two hundred eleven
Two one one
Eleven more than two hundred
I can't figure it out.
Tonight, my friend, Cindy, and I planned to go to Subway. That's been the plan for a week. I texted her this afternoon and said "We can go wherever you want", all the time thinking "I hope it's not Subway, I hope it's not Subway, I hope it's not Subway".
We ended up at DeColores where I had a grilled chicken sandwich with Swiss cheese, a salad with ranch dressing, a few chips, and THREE glasses of wine.
It could have been worse. I could have gone back to old behavior and had cheese enchiladas with an egg and all the fixings, a basket of chips, sopapillas, and three glasses of wine.
But, whether it was enchiladas or a grilled chicken sandwich, it still
FELT LIKE A SABOTAGEin my head.
My - head/heart/diet gauge - was not in the right place.
I could FEEL it.
Do you know what I mean??
Well, it's over. I've got to pull up my panties (I think that must be a mixture of pull up my bootstraps and put my big girl panties on) and let go of it.
Dwelling on it isn't going to help. Feeling guilty isn't going to help. Flogging myself isn't going to help.
As of right now - 7:58 on a Tuesday night - it is the beginning of a new day.
Besides, I have another blog that I have to write.