I can't lie--the past two weeks have sucked. A combination of pulling every muscle in my body, then getting some flu-like bug has made going to the gym nearly impossible. The strange thing is, I am not even mad at myself. If I'm hurt, I'm hurt. If I'm sick, I'm sick. Why force myself onto a treadmill when all I want to do is sit on the couch? Granted, I love the couch even when I'm not sick, but I'm always--always--up and doing something every 15 minutes. If I'm only capable of watching Ace of Cakes, I'm ok with that.

Still kinda down about how long this process is actually going to take. My MIL is going to visit this July. At the rate I'm losing, I should be down about 30 pounds by then--which is a HUGE accomplishment, and it gives me chills just to think about it. But I keep wishing for just a few more pounds. Probably because I want just a little less work.