I’m still playing with the settings for this theme so bear with me if things look odd. This is a test, this is a test….

I lost 2 pounds last week. Now I’m back to where I was six weeks ago, which is sort of depressing because being a fat-loser is difficult. Every ounce lost is such a hard-won victory of eating less, moving more and going without the things that I really enjoy (red wine, red meat, gin & tonic, bloody Caesars, desserts). . But then I go upstairs, strip down, stare really hard at myself in the mirror and remember why I am doing this.

I haven’t missed a day of writing so far this year. Some days are more productive than others, though and occasionally I feel like I’m spinning my wheels because I’ve stopped submitting to contests. I haven’t published anything lately. When I try to read some of the dreck that people I know have published, I feel ill. And envious.

oldenoughIt’s my own fault that I’ve failed to launch. Still working towards a standard of perfection that will never be achieved. I have to face the risks and fling my writing out there. That’s always been my downfall – holding back. Do I really care what people think? Especially if they have not ‘done’ but merely critique. I do, sort of…

But I don’t want to get bogged down in thinking too much. It’s a gorgeous day and I’m heading out to do some gardening. See how things are growing, rip out some weeds and revel in the circle of life of which I am a part.

I’m my head, I’m still about 20 years old. In residence at university in the midst of that discovery phase bubble, playing sports, hanging out, few cares in the world, still relatively untouched by the vicissitudes of grown-up life. Now, I know…but unless I absolutely must I still refuse to wear that heavy mantle of being grown-up.