Caterwauling

Well, I dragged my pudgy pork roast ass to my meeting today. I felt like I hadn’t lost *much* but it was a nearly pound and a half gain.

Fat. Ass.

The gal who weighs me in looks and talks exactly like my girl Vitamin D. The meeting leader always brings her up at the end of the meeting to hawk products, as there is an on-site store full of overpriced, cardboard-tasting treats. You can tell she hates to make the sales pitches, so she always says how good the measuring cups are for vodka and how wine goes well with everything they sell.

(Miss you, Vitamin D! *waves*)

She was concerned about my gain but she also said that she’s happy I came back the day after a “food holiday.”

I felt like crap for most of the meeting, until they said that our collective group lost 25 pounds this week … and it’s a group of 50 people. And two people lost five pounds apiece, so what does that tell you about all of us? That we are human. That losses were small if they happened, and more people either gained or maintained.

So, we are all fallible together.

Normally I stop off at the Brooklyn bagel shop for cawfee and a bagel. But I realized last week that my whole-wheat everything is actually the most-fattening thing they have on the menu. So, we’ll be taking a hiatus from THOSE for a while!

I think bread was my saboteur this week. I didn’t eat much bread but I felt like I had it with everything — a bagel, a tortilla, a hot dog bun, a slider bun. Even though I always throw away half, I felt like I had more bread-centered meals than normal.

Another thing I feel like I do wrong is the electronic points tracking. I did very well when I did paper tracking. I think I was more honest about it. Now that you can pull out your phone and find four million listings for whatever soup you had, it’s too easy to randomly pick the item with the point value you think it is.

We already know I don’t know thing one about portion sizes, so I might just select a six-ounce veggie soup for four points when we all know it was more like eight or 10 ounces and it had cheese in it and was probably more like nine points.

Like I told my meeting leader today, I am a budgeter. Time, general ledgers, etc. I make shit work on paper. And I feel like when it comes to tracking my food, I find my victory more in “I ate all my points today!” rather than in facing just how many points I did (or didn’t) eat. Because I do go over and I certainly stay under.

We talk a lot about NSVs. No, not Net Asset Values (I know, wrong acronym, but I really do read balance sheets an awful lot), but Non-Scale Victories.

Mine? I don’t go trick-or-treating from colleagues’ desks at night when I get hungry. I haven’t had a piece of candy in three weeks. And I don’t actually miss it.

My big “slip-up,” if you will, is that I hit the vending machine yesterday for a granola bar — which was a disappointing five points. But meh. I felt a lot better about that choice than grabbing a Reese’s cup from the skinniest person in the office’s candy jar.

So, this week it’s all about the NSV. Next week, onward but NOT upward on the scale!

I’ve decided I want to be a meeting leader. That would be so much fun and it would be perfect for me.

I’m writing down this aspiration because things only seem to happen when I put them on paper. So, my goal isn’t so much a number as it is a weekend job that I know I would love.

And so I remember what it’s like, I’m going to bore the world to tears with what I struggle with from week to week …

Challenge no. 1: Working out in the boonies, my food choices are limited. I bring a salad and two or three snacks every day. And I stress-eat those snacks by 9:30 a.m. And I starve between lunch and when I depart the ranch around 8 p.m.

So my meeting leader said maybe I should tie those snacks to an activity — a reward for getting through something. So now, I space them out by meetings. My noms don’t last throughout the day, but I’ve gotten them to last throughout the morning.

Verdict: progress! Let’s see if I can save a Fiber One brownie till about 1 p.m. this week.

Challenge no. 2: No time for exercise.

I used to at least have a smoke or two during work hours, to get me up from my desk. And back in the day I’d at least run to our onsite cafe for a salad, but I end up missing lunch if I can’t get up from my desk before 1:30 when they close. (And the nearest sign of civilization is 15 miles away — if I can’t spare the length of a smoke break to go get a salad, how the hell am I going to pack a canteen and venture off the reservation?)

Also, summer in Florida is our winter. The only running I do is from air-conditioned office to air-conditioned car. While everyone up north is venturing outside, we are hunkering down against the elements.

Coming home late doesn’t help. Plus I have things I must do when I get home that don’t involve enjoying my life.

Weekends are errands and mom’s mobility is becoming more-limited, so our together time is mostly spent on the couch watching TV together. But she’s been a champ about cooking healthier and even cutting her own sugar intake to support me.

I am surprised and thrilled by her help. The first time I did the diet thing, she was the ultimate food pusher. And while she did give me a guilt trip that baking is the only thing she loves and now she can’t do that (I told her to give it away — I have an office full of captives), now she’s just the occasional booze pusher. And we all KNOW I can’t say no to that!

Verdict: booze! Er, I mean, something to work on.

Challenge no. 3: Veggies aren’t free.

The first time I dieted, every veggie was a point or two or three, in food-currency terms. Now they are free. Eat them to your heart’s content, the manuals say.

As I learned from a Skinny Minnie who sat next to me at the meeting this week, that’s not true and they need to be portioned out just like anything.

Ugh. Portion control is my ultimate foe.

I eat froots and veggies like they are going out of style. I eat till I’m full and I admit I don’t listen to my body when it says it’s full. Is it really, really full … or full for now and I’m gonna be hungry later so why not just stuff myself silly now? Bad Goddess. Bad.

Anyway, she said all she did was freebase veggies and she ended up gaining weight. So, I thank her for that tip — veggie intake should be as regulated as morphine dosages.

Verdict: everything is bad for you. But I’d rather OD on carrots than heroin. So, one challenge at a time.

Not that I check messages. But, you know, that’s kinda the point.

I went from having a great week to a tremendously stressful week to, next week, Mercury Retrograde.

(Envision yams coming out of a can like springy snakes.)

I also started watching what I eat again last week. Five years ago this Tuesday, my life was so out-of-control that I started doing the same thing — and I found incredible discipline and even joy in taking control of JUST ONE aspect of my life.

I was 34 and didn’t want to be fat at 35. And now I’m 39 and not particularly fond of being pudgy at 40.

I hate it that it’s five years later and nothing has changed but the state I live in. The state of mind, however uncomfortable it is most of the time, remains home sweet home.

With my last post, I have thousands of words and emotions I want to share about it. But the bottom line is that you either live with what’s unfair or change it. There is something in me that cannot look past the way things are, and I stress and fret and work so hard to make change.

But then every once in a while, you get a reminder that while everyone sees what you’re trying to do, you’re not going to win. Like Edward Snowden — whatever his motive for espionage, he tried to do something about it. Maybe it was to make himself famous, although I know enough spooks in Washington and how they operate to presume that whatever birthday he last celebrated had better have been a good one because his future ones are extremely limited.

I guess do you die doing what you must to survive, or die for what you believe in? And how can you make it so that it doesn’t have to feel like a choice?

Anyway, diet. I thank God that I remain employed and continue to pay to attend the meetings. I thank God for the strength to not resort to my usual stress-reliever of EATING ALL THE THINGS because I damn well deserve whatever I perceive as a reward. And I thank God that the stressful things that keep happening can come to a merciful end and that the fact that I survived a week of healthy eating and mom survived what I think may have been a heart attack yesterday means that we are one day closer to the glory and the greatness that He’s promised.

And thank you, God, for giving me more rope every time I reach the end of it. I’ll keep hanging as long as I can but I thank You that one of these days I’m going to have enough strength to crawl back up.

It’s past six p.m. … I’ve had six meetings today … I have six hours’ worth of work ahead of me … and I have a commitment later tonight that has nothing to do with numbers but you get the idea.

On the subject of numbers, however, I dragged my pudgy pork-roast butt back to Weight Watchers on Saturday.

Jesus. Christ.

I’ve put on a few pounds, we’ll say, since I moved here. Not as many as I originally carried, thank God. But still.

Pudgy. Pork. Roast. Ass.

Anyway, I have not had five fucking seconds to eat today, let alone count my points. But it occurs to me …

I HAVE BEEN UNDER-EATING.

I can’t lose a pound to save my life and I haven’t been able to figure out why. But let’s assume you should be consuming, say, about 28 points a day, right? It’s 6:30 p.m. and I can guarantee you I haven’t had more than 5 all day.

And then I get home after 9 p.m., say, and SHOVEL IN EVERY MORSEL I CAN FIND.

I also stay up late too, since I get so screwed out of evening time that I will stay up till 1 a.m. And get up at 5:30 a.m. to do this whole motherloving adventure all over again.

I guess what I’m saying is, undereating makes you just as fat as overeating. I’m sure the stress doesn’t help, either. But … wow.

Me … an under-eater? Who knew?

So, it’s Day 7 of my diet and I hauled my pudgy pork roast ass back to Weight Watchers. Lost a whopping 3.6 pounds, which would be good if I hadn’t put on 18 in the first place. *snarl*

My leader, Johnny, is awesome. If he isn’t a flaming gay man, he sure as hell plays one on Thursday nights. He asked if I’d talk for a second about my ‘first week’ on the program.

I announced my status as a “two-time loser,” as it’s my second time around. And he LOVED it and referred to me as a “two-timing loser.” Yeah, we’re gonna get along just fine! 🙂

He asked how things were different during the past week. I said that for the past year, I was VERY roughly counting points, saying things to myself like, “Oh, that’s about 2 points.” When, in reality, I do the actual math and write it down and say, “Oh, hey, fatass, it was more like 8 points.”

A hush descended upon the room at the “F” word. Johnny loved it and said, “Oh, you say that to yourself, too?” And I said yeah, I suck at the “positive self-thinking lesson” and he said, “I know!”

And I was kind of comforted, mostly because I wasn’t sure he got my reference when I was on the scale and asked, “Did you deduct 16 pounds for the shoes?” (“Romy and Michelle,” in case you’re lost.) So, I think he got it. 😉

Then we broke up into groups to talk about our challenges. I picked the “food pushers” group so I could bitch about the Over-Extended Houseguest who bakes and cooks good food with a stick of butter and then gets hurt that I spurn what little contribution she feels she can make. Which I punctuated with, “No wonder I’m fat!”

And that pissed them off even further. Whoops.

Look, you have to learn at a young age (if you’re pudgalicious at a young age) to deal with people calling you names. Fuck, there are people in their 30s who act like 5-year-olds and address you as such because they’re pissed off that their skinny asses are having a miserable life. (*points and laughs at one in particular*)

Sticks and stones, yo. Sticks and stones. I get the last laugh AND the first one.

I call myself names when I do something stupid. Like eating the whole cake when I’ve already ruined my diet with one piece. Like trying to wear my “skinny jeans” that were a little tight 15 pounds ago, if I’m being honest about it. Or like when my confidence turns to shit and I don’t grab somebody and kiss them when I know perfectly well that I CAN, because I get struck by sudden shyness that they couldn’t POSSIBLY want my pudgy butt.

Anyway, someone in the meeting today called me my nickname (a derivation of my real name, NOT fatass!), with a certain accent in his voice, that reminded me of my friend Vitamin D. And I missed her very much today. (*waves*) And she was my real champion, when I did this the first time.

So, yeah, I’m back. Hopefully this time, it’ll stick. But at least I’m trying. And maybe I’ll find another name with which to berate myself for the dumb things I do in the future: “OK, skinny ass!”

Second time’s a charm, I hope!

For those who haven’t seen my pudgy pork roast ass lately, I’ve found some of the weight that I’d lost. Damn it.

Oddly enough, I maintained my ‘low’ weight for the past year. It was in the past two months of transition (job, apartment, other shit) that I sprouted an extra ass cheek.

I think it’s because the last year was SO BAD, that the only thing that I could control was my food intake. And now that things are getting better, I haven’t exerted so much control about what I’ve been eating — I’ve finally felt more in control of my life, so I could ease up on the eating restrictions.

And so…

I stepped on the scale last night and just about died. So tonight, after a full year away, I dragged all three ass cheeks to Weight Watchers. Since I’ve been paying for it all this time and all.

As I met with the leader (whom I LOVED) after the meeting, since I’m being treated like a total newbie, I started to say what everyone says … that it was a tough year and I thought I could do it on my own and blah blah blah.

You know, the stories everybody tells.

But then I went into details. And my new leader — who has heard everything a thousand times — widened his eyes and indicated that, OK, NOW he has heard it all!

And in that moment, I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I stopped being angry that I let some of the weight return. I stopped blaming myself and everyone else who has sabotaged me — who I LET sabotage me.

He asked what brought me back. I said I’m taking my life back. Which I’ve tried to do a hundred different ways and times, and here we go again.

The first time I went to WW, it was to lose weight. It was through that experience that I gained a sense of control over my life. This time, I’m going back for the control, and the de-pudgifying process will follow.

I’d say the scare on the scale is responsible for about 96% of this new adventure. Wanting to die while climbing stairs might be part of that, too. My favorite jeans not fitting sucks … as does the fact that I bought those jeans another size down, and they’re still sitting in the plastic from when Old Navy shipped them to me. That REALLY sucks.

And I would be lying if I didn’t admit that the other 4% of my motivation came from being with people this past weekend who were, are and will be special to me. Friends, lovers and business partners, past and present — people who ‘knew me when’ and will know me a long time from now.

I don’t know if it was any of them per se, or maybe more the idea of living a long and healthy life so that I will know them forever, that kind of kicked my ass. And maybe a small part of me felt regret that I wasn’t able to showcase a supermodel-sized self because I totally dropped the ball on my health-improvement plans.

Good thing they all love me anyway. 🙂

But while I’ve never defined myself by appearance, that doesn’t mean I don’t WANT to. Because I do. I so very much do.

So anyway, I’m not blogging to broadcast to the world about the size of my pudgy pork roast ass. I AM doing it to make myself accountable to getting it right this time.

My leader asked us how many of us were first-timers to WW. Two people raised their hands, out of 40. That means I’m not the only one who fell off the bike in the middle of the ride. But I — like so many others — got back on. And walking through the doors for the first time — or the second shot at the first time — is always the hardest part.

Perhaps at my next weigh-in, even if I haven’t lost a single pound, I will be able to say that at least my heart is a lot lighter, knowing that my victories are not limited to the scale, but that the war with the scale is a battle I can win nonetheless.

Thriving Ivory at Sunfest

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

I should be working on my little newsletter, but I am absolutely exhausted and my mind is boggling from learning stuff I never knew from about 15 years ago so, hey, let’s blog!

I wasn’t going to go to Sunfest today. I mean, yesterday was the day I had designated to go. And today was the final day of the four-day extravaganza. I had better things to do today, yes?

Well, I went to church. (Always a better thing to do.) Had lunch. And figured I’d just drive up the A1A and see what parking might be like, since genius here parked six miles away yesterday. And lo and behold, hand a guy $20 and voila! Parking across from the entrance FTW! (In addition to $31 at the gate. Sweet Jeebus.)

I got to see Thriving Ivory, G. Love and Special Sauce, and Candlebox while I was there. Fireworks start tonight at 9 p.m. but alas, newsletter duty called. Besides, trying to get out of West Palm Beach after fireworks and having to sit on I-95 South to Miami with eleventy million others? No fucking thank you.

I had a great time there. It was nicely situated along the Intracoastal, so even though it was hotter than BALLS in South Florida today, the breeze kept it temperate.

There were all kinds of crafts and food booths there, although that crap really doesn’t interest me. I did chortle at the sign at a chicken place, advertising “Jerk in a Cup” for $6. I got a shot of it on my Nikon, although hell if I can find the battery charger and the USB cord to upload this photo goodness. That settles it — when a cord goes MIA, I just buy a new camera/printer/computer.

Why yes, I AM a girl, in case THAT isn’t readily apparent from reading this page!

I am so glad I didn’t stay at Sunfest last night; I think I walked five miles inside of it today. What I fail to understand is that the scale says I’m up two pounds right now; after hiking no fewer than 15 miles in the last two days (including beach time), like HELL that’s true or even acceptable!

I did have a bit of a giggle at Sunfest today when I noticed a number of men looking at me. Don’t get me wrong — I’m aware that I’ve shed a small person’s worth of weight from my frame, even if I don’t really “get it” in my head that I wasn’t beautiful the whole way down.

But I was sort of amazed at the male attention when I realized that I was probably one of the few chicks with real boobs in the county. And I’m sure I’ll become one of those who does become a frequent-flier at the plastic surgeon. In the meantime, though, I was glad I didn’t throw away my “last year’s tube top becomes this year’s sun dress” — it worked very well for me today!

All right, that’s all, folks. Must go do brilliant things or, at least, make them pretty enough to be published at the crack o’ me in the a.m. …

Banner day in Goddess’ world. Really. Outstanding on all accounts.

The day started with some terse words with the OEH and were followed up with a text from her that was reminiscent of someone else from my past (who is not part of my present; draw the parallel).

This just bought someone one-way plane fare to Siberia.

On Oceanic Flight 815. 🙂

I texted back a, “Thank you for justifying my frustration.”

The only real low point of the day was attending my city’s Sucko de Mayo celebration. Yes, I typed that right. Paid 10 bucks to enter, and left within five minutes. Four booths and three taco stands and some mariachi music. I seriously wanted to ask for a refund but I figured maybe the money would help them to relocate to Texas before it secedes.

In any event, it was all good from there. After spending my biweekly pay at the farmer’s market (all on fresh, yummy froot), I went to my WW meeting today and found out I was down 4.2 pounds for the week. Yay! Considering that I only dropped a half-pound over the past month, I’m fairly all right with that.

To reward my incredible shrinking ass, I parked that pale butt on the beach for two hours and managed not to get a sunburn while I was there. Hurrah Neutrogena’s 70 SPF cooling mist — especially for a girl who’s as white as the sand upon which she lounged. Of course, now I have sand in very strange places; how the hell does it GET there, is my question. But wevs. Good day at the beach, I say.

I was lucky — when I parallel-parked at the shore, the gal in front of me said not to put money in my meter. Instead, she told me to pull up into her spot (she was leaving), as she had two hours left on hers. Score! When I dragged my butt back to the car after two hours, I put some money in the meter to help out the next person. Feels good to get a break every once in a while.

I went home to shake the sand out of my clothes and get a ‘ho bath before heading up to Sunfest, which ended up being an epic FAIL on my part. Since I wanted to get the fuq out of the house as soon as possible, I failed to get directions. I figured, I know my way around (*hahahaha*); I’ll just park at CityPlace and walk from there.

So after walking SIX MILES, I finally found the place. At this point, I was sunburned in very weird patches because I didn’t reapply my sunscreen evenly. And you know what? Fuck Sunfest.

Sure, I was hot to see David Cook perform (he’s performing RIGHT THIS MINUTE *cry*) — I will always be a drooling fangirl for him. But I was hot and hungry and fucking crabby. And I really didn’t want to walk all the way back in the dark, so I decided to turn back while the sun was still scorching my poor shoulders and back.

But I looked cute. Loved my outfit. I’ve been working on building a summer wardrobe, since I’m told it’s gorgeous 10 months out of the year here. My mind is officially blown that not only am I shopping in petites again, but also juniors. So, the day would have been a win for that reason alone.

So, with Sunfest up in smoke, I did something I never do and treated myself to dinner while I was up there. Had several glasses of premium Pinot Noir. Also feasted on crabmeat-encrusted sea bass that was served over a risotto pancake. I went elsewhere for coffee and some kickass tiramisu.

I don’t even want to discuss what I spent on that feast. But for some reason, I felt like celebrating. And by golly, I’m worth it!

Am down 64.2 pounds officially (although tonight’s dinner should have eradicated all of that) and have a ways to go still, but God it feels good to be a gangsta have made all this progress. The finish line isn’t anywhere near being in sight, but I’m more than halfway there.

I figured that 34 would be my year. It so totally was. Now that I’m about to turn 35 34 again (*cough*), there’s no reason why it can’t be better than the last one. I’m in a better place, literally and figuratively. So, you know. Even-more onward and even-more upward.

Work is taking an interesting turn, too. No details to give at this point, but I’m pretty much living the dream right now. Or, at least, that’s the plan. If I could just clear out my guest room, I’d be the poster child for perfection.

I wouldn’t know how to act if all were truly well in my world. Really. But I sure wouldn’t mind having the opportunity. But as it stands, I’m as close as I’ve ever been. And I’m quite OK with moving in the right direction, no matter how long it takes to get there.

When I left work at 10:30 p.m. last night (*sigh*), the plans I’d known better than to fully commit to had already started an hour earlier. So, what’s a girl to do on a fucked-up Friday night? How about taking a prescription refill to a 24-hour CVS Pharmacy? THAT’S always good for a laugh.

So my medicine is usually $20. But we switched insurance carriers, and I almost dropped dead on the spot when they charged me $80. I don’t care that I’m non-functional without these pills. (No, they’re not mind medication, just in case you’re asking. Because I know you are.)

But there ain’t no ‘script on the planet that’s worth that much money, so I left it there. Whee totally non-productive Friday night! Which means, whee gotta go back to the doc to see if there’s something my insurance DOES cover. And yes, I’ll buy the fucking $80 meds in the meantime. Luckily there’s a coupon on the Web site for $20 off. Now to just find a computer with a printer. …

In way better news, I spent the morning cleaning out the two top shelves in my closet. Which sounds like it would take 10 minutes but it involved me trying on no fewer than 30 pairs of jeans and jeanskirts. That’s all.

I work in corporate, buttoned-up America, so most of this shit has been collecting dust over the past four or five years. So I figured, OK, most of it is too big anyway, so it’s time to donate it. And besides, if I want to move when my lease is up (judging from my living situation, that’s debatable), I’d like to not have to carry the dead weight (speaking only of the clothing) to the next destination.

Well, I now have three full storage tubs filled with pants/skirts from my biggest size. That’s it — only one size is represented. And it probably only amounts to six clothing items but damn, that’s a lot of fabric per item. 😉

Actually, I did come across some items from “the old days” — things I kept on hand after the last time I donated clothes that I had “outgrown.” (Sigh again.) And they fit! In fact, they fit better than they did when I left Pittsburgh for the wilds of D.C. in 2002.

Most of the skirts are too short, and many are too trendy for a gal of my advancing (middle) age. But day-um, to be able to twirl around in mah hoochie-wear again? Priceless.

Now, to just rent a crane to haul these denim circus tents to the nearest women’s shelter. …

So, after what I like to call a “fail-filling” day because, well, it was so very full of FAIL, I got great news tonight … that I lost 4 pounds during the holidays.

Sure, I skipped last week’s meeting so the loss was for two weeks. But still, I’ve practically had a feed bag (of FAIL) strapped to my face since mid-December. The hell?

I can only suspect that actually eating real food and not living on all things vegetable- and soy-based did great things for my system. I had cookies for dinner last night, since I worked late and everyone who didn’t want to keep sinful foods around their houses ever-so-graciously brought in their crap for the rest of us. Gee, thanks!

Anyway, whee being 0.2 pounds away from my next goal. Of course, I wore paper-thin clothes today — it might be a little harder to show a loss next week, when I resume dressing for sleet and snow. 🙂

I was paid a compliment earlier today by, well, let’s say someone who’s never paid me a compliment before. She told me to feel free to keep on wasting away, but to leave some meat on my bones. Just a little — something for someone to hold on to. I was stunned and pleased that she even noticed, let alone said something!

I was going to write about how sucktacular my day was otherwise, because it was, but it feels good to say nice things so I’m going to keep on going. (I’ve got smelling salts for those of you who just fainted. …)

With it being a new year, naturally I figured we’d see some new faces at my de-pudgification meeting. And one in particular stood out — well, her story did, anyway, and I wanted to write it down and remember it because it’s inspiring.

We all know that pudgiliciousness leads to infertility. Which is kind of funny when I think about all the birth control I’ve consumed, probably for nothing. (But since birth control can also be so very full of FAIL, I don’t regret it. Not one bit.)

Anyway, a new girl joined tonight who works for a local fertility clinic. And she said Weight Watchers is probably the biggest boon to the fertility industry she’s witnessed, and she’s living proof. Apparently she had joined WW two years ago and was going to pursue IVF treatments. Well, after she lost her initial 10%, she dropped out of the program because, surprise, she had gotten pregnant!

She says that happens all the time. Imagine the hundreds of thousands of dollars saved in fertility treatments simply because women took steps to get healthy. Wow. Just, wow.

So, now her son is 10 months old and she’s ready to lose weight again. I had to applaud that. I mean, I applaud for everyone, but it’s neat how people make such an impact on those who are listening, even if she will never know that I was sitting directly behind her, in awe of every word.

I actually wore clothes that fit today, which I don’t often do — I was explaining the “Hammer pants” phenomenon, how all my pants crotches hang by my knees and my pants drag on the floor; maybe M.C. Hammer’s sense of style came from a big weight loss? — and my group of friends was double-taking and asking how much I’ve gotten rid of so far. With the 0.2 that I have to lose to get to an even number, it’ll be 47 pounds gone in seven months.

What’s cool is how, with all the new people in the meeting, I’m plain old average, size-wise. Sure, I’m still pudgilicious by all accounts. Ain’t no mistaking me for a supermodel anytime soon, trust me on that. But instead of always looking around at those who’ve been there longer than me and seeing how far I have to go, I could kind of sit back and enjoy how far I’ve come, too.

I was just looking at my final paycheck of the year and feeling grateful to have one, yes, but also rather stunted, that my standard of living is defined by the salary I agreed to at one job. (I should have multiple profit centers — my income should not be capped — my creativity should be paying me off, again and again, if only I’d harness it.)

But the same is true for my life. Because I’ve had this or that wrong with me, or because my ass was the size of a small island, my enjoyment of my time on this earth has been severely curtailed.

I mean, not just the health or the fear aspect of dropping dead at a moment’s notice, but you wonder what kind of relationships or jobs you would have had, or whether the ones you’ve experienced would have been different … and how.

Anyway, I’m just watching the new season of “Biggest Loser” and being genuinely angry that nine people who need help are being sent home tonight, on the very first episode. So I’m going to end this feel-good fuzzy-wuzzy fest now and just be glad that, at my present weight, I would never have qualified for this season.

And while I won’t focus on it, I’ll never forget that, six months ago, I could very well have been “big” enough to be on the biggest season of the show in history.