backsliding.

It's been a while. Almost a month. And things have gotten pretty bad. Like, out of control bad.

It started with San Fran. It was an amazing trip, but I didn't have a ton of control over what I ate, even if I did work in the kitchen. All the food the mission has is donated. I managed to get myself a few salads, but after little sleep, all day on your feet and working with teenagers for the first time ever 24 hours a day, I was always ready for a meal. One would think that constantly moving or at least standing would have helped to burn enough of those calories. But no.

Then I came home. And money's been tighter than ever. This means that I'm limited as to what I can buy. Next, I found out that the housing I was counting on fell through and I didn't have a backup plan. Typical Sammie. Stress much? Yes, thank you. The last straw was being the one to find out that my mom's best friend from college, my "aunt", died a few weeks ago. I was responsible for telling three out of my five other family members. The following day I baked for five hours. The cookies were taken to church and the popovers got moldy before I could eat too many. But that pudding pie, with it's sugary, honey, buttery crust. Oh man. I kinda wish it didn't even have pudding in it, given it's uber gelatinous and fake yellow state.

All this to say that my eating hasn't been the best. Lots of inexpensive carbs and more carbs. I've been trying to wean myself off of dairy, but let's be honest: I'm obsessed. I can't think of anything dairy that I don't like.

And it's showing. Literally. In the shower, I noticed that my love handles have developed more grab-able surface area. As I pull on a v-neck, I realized that my belly pouch is a bit more pronounced. Okay, more than a bit. The other day, I noticed that my face is getting a little pudgier. These are all bad signs! Really, really bad signs.

But here I sit, an empty bowl beside me with the remnants of pasta I think I made a week or so ago. I really can't be sure. All I know was that it didn't have mold, like the other container in my fridge I haven't dealt with. I haven't run since I've been back. Mostly because I dread the thought of wearing those horrific shoes; and also because I really hate blisters from running barefoot. And because the tank top I bought to run in has gotten a little snug. I'm pretty sure that's the worst sign of all.

I think my life is like that moldy container of pasta. Or at least parts of it are. Just sitting stagnant on the shelf. I know there's a problem, but because there are other things in the fridge that are good and likable, I reach for them first. I know one day I'll have to reach in there and just throw the whole container out. But today never seems to be that day. I'm pretty lazy like that.

You'd think the desperate desire I have to have a boyfriend would help to motivate me to lose some weight. But it doesn't. It just depresses me.

Oh well.