Pasta for breakfast

So, yeah, I've opened the flood gates, and it came to a head this morning: I had leftover pasta with bolognese sauce for breakfast. Oh and I also inhaled a chocolate coconut egg (thanks, Mom, for sending me back to Virginia with NINE of those!). I think I've already exhausted my Weight Watcher's points for the day, and it's only 7:30am.



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Oh what a week this has been. I tell ya. I'm losing weekly diet battles and yes, my troops are retreating from the diet war. I just don't know what it's going to take. What will put me over the edge to where I finally say, "enough is enough, Ellie, stop eating." Here are a few things I'm dealing with, and any of these should be snapping me into terminator diet mode, but guess what? They're not.

None of my clothes fit. And I refuse to buy new things because, let's be honest, who the hell wants to go try on clothes when you have an extra 30 pounds hanging around? I simply say, "Hmmm, ok, none of my pants can reach their closures, oh well, guess I'll just wear a big, blousy dress then." I weigh more than my husband. A normal woman would not accept that, but apparently I'm not normal and that's not doing the trick either. Oh and here's another one. Everytime I try to put on my bathing suit to teach swimming lessons, it's a workout. I sweat, for real. Don't even try to imagine what it's like when I try taking the bathing suit off. That's the thing nightmares are made of.

So if none of these scenarios are embarrassing enough to force my jaws closed, I ask you: WHAT IS IT GOING TO TAKE? Hmmmm, maybe if I got stuck somewhere? Like in my desk chair or in my car and fire fighters needed to come to get me unstuck with butter (yummm, butter)? Or what if an elevator that I'm in can't go up because I've forced the lift to its weight maximum? Maybe something like that will finally put me over the edge? I wonder.

And I have no answers, but all this talk has me anxious, and I think I need a snack...AHHH!

Walking around the office looking for treats,

Ellie