Second "Class"

My second class wasn't so much a class as a distribution of materials and an informational "Please pay this amount" session. Which, hey, fine, whatever. At least I didn't have to see the asshole nutritionist. Our materials included the surgical binder full of vital info (like timelines, pre- and post-op nutritional guidelines, surgical specifics, and some psychological newsletters to read and consider) and a book by Barbara Thompson, which I just finished reading yesterday.

The six month preparatory education meetings (and the materials distributed therein) carry a flat rate fee (through my program) of $375 which must be paid in full before a surgical date can be scheduled. We met the lady responsible for the billing at the center and she explained to us how we can opt to pay (all at once, installments, etc.). Insurance will not cover this cost and it does not go toward insurance "out-of-pocket" maximums.

I sent my first payment last week.

As far as I'm concerned, the ball is rolling and the decision is more or less made.

My mother is fighting valiantly to keep her mouth shut about my decision - but I can tell she doesn't want me to have the surgery.

But you know what? She may feel like she's been fat her whole life, but she was a size 8 when she married my dad. She wasn't wearing plus sized clothing until the 90s. Possibly the MID-90s. Do you know when I stepped into my first Lane Bryant? Sixth grade.

1993 was not a great time to be a plus-sized pre-teen. Back then, only old ladies were fat. That's what the clothing makers believed, anyway. There are lots of photos of me wearing clothing that could easily be mistaken for upholstry.

Twenty years of dieting (that's 2/3 of my time on this planet) has made me over-informed and unenthused. I am jaded. Calories in vs. calories out is a terrific theory... in theory.

In reality, it's a bitch of a black hole that just sucks your soul away, and when you finally manage to claw your way out of the crushing gravitational pull of count-count-count-deprive-exercise-count-count-exercise-exercise-refuse-invitations-count-count, you launch yourself head first into an industrial sized bag of potato chips and skid into a tub of Ben & Jerry's. Cackling from the sugar rush, you crack "What a long, strange trip it's been!" and slice open the packing tape on the box of "fat clothes" in the back of the closet.

Or maybe that's just me?

Dieter's cynicism aside, I am trying to get back on track with healthier eating (and living).

I ate something at McDonald's almost every day last week. I honestly don't know why.

Today, I'm trying out a new plan. I'm going to have Slim Fast for my evening meal, as that seems to be when I binge/graze/give up on the day. I'm going to add a salad onto that... maybe even a can of soup, as the warmth will keep me fuller for longer.