Just like I never left...

The weight loss competition has ended and in its absence it has left a black hole (somewhere in the vicinity of my face), which has started to suck down an unbelievable amount of food. Obviously, this is all out of my control. If I knew more about black holes and what they are, maybe I could combat what's happening to me... Alas, thinking of space and blackness and forver-nothingness has always freaked me out, so I've never pursued more information.

Also, my Spanish desk calendar's phrase for the day is "Mi estomago hace ruidos raros." My stomach is making weird noises.

How did it KNOW!?

I don't even want to know what tomorrow's phrase is because, if it's following my life as closely as it seems to be, it's bound to be something like "Do you have these pants in a bigger size?"

I do NOT need to know how to say that.

The good news is, I dropped some pounds. I did some things in the three months of the competition that I've never done before. I ran three miles in one evening. I counted calories every day. On the days where I lost control and consumed more than I care to admit, I promised myself I would start over the next day and then I started over. More than anything, it was a great learning experience. It also kind of ruined my life because now that I know what I know about the amount of sugar and carbs and cals in my favorite foods, it doesn't feel so great to indulge anymore.

I'm not at the point where, if interviewed by Shape magazine, you would hear me say "Now, instead of ice cream, I prefer a fresh peach!" (seriously, a woman said that) but I do eat less cereal in the morning. I still want donuts and waffles etc. amen.

I think I'll keep going, because I didn't get to my goal weight. I also want new clothes and I can't justify the purchases unless my pants are falling off. My office isn't THAT business casual.

I live in an unfinished basement.

Really. I'm confessing it to you. It's worth it though, to live in this basement, because it's really warm even though it's freezing outside.

(I'm lying. It's cold as Voldemort's heart down here.)

The truth is, I live in a cold basement because my parent's are good to me during my transition into graduated/married/adult life. I also live in a cold basement because I graduated a year early just so I could impress people right before I unimpressed them by saying that I have (and have and have) no idea what I want to do.

"I want to write. I want people to read what I write." Is it so pathetic that I haven't written a blogpost since October? One of my favorite professors at K-State said that writers write. "If you're not writing, you're not a writer." Whoa, no wonder she was my favorite.

"I want to speak Spanish." And not just so I can sneak a listen in on people's conversations but so I can... well, I don't know. I just want to finish something I start, and once upon a semester I started learning Spanish.

Well, the list goes on.

I expect no one will read this. Or maybe the eight people who follow me will read this post. But Steven says that's not the point. He says that I should write because it's good for me to do it and that I'll get better and better. (Isn't that what you said, Steven?)