I was all ready to start this post bemoaning my status as an utter failure. Except I don't really feel that way. That may not be a good thing for my waistline, but it is a very good thing for my psyche.

Eating is not something that you can win at. You either make good choices or bad. It doesn't mean you lose, as that decision has no real bearing on your next meal. Unless, like me, you let it. One bad decision begets the next, usually. I've already had too many cookies, so I may as well have some more! Oh, Jess. I am lucky I never did drugs.

So, I will leave this weekend where it belongs; in the past. Regretting those cookies will only make me feel lousy. And dammit, they were tasty! It's a new dawn, it's a new day.

Nothing derails progress like getting sick. After a strong start, I got the flu, and promptly decided that eating was for the birds. Usually, getting sick means copious amounts of soup and ice cream to soothe my aching throat, but the flu knocked me down and sat on me for five days. Two pieces of toast seemed like a feast. And, once recovered, I was so relieved that eating no longer felt like a chore, that I, um, overindulged? Sure, that words sounds vague enough.

But, of course, there will always be something. Excuses are everywhere. I am so thrilled to be moving this week. I miss my pots and pans, my cupboards full of healthy ingredients just waiting to be combined! Oh, red lentils, I cannot wait to sup upon your goodness! Come hither and let me dine! (Ignore those last two sentences. The flu has forced my brain to revert to 17th century England.)