So I started this project about a week ago, rounded up all my participants and planned out this blog, thinking to myself the whole time about how great it was going to be. I was going to do wonders; I was going to get up and have breakfast and eat healthy and exercise, and I had every honest intention of doing just exactly that.
Those intentions lasted until probably late Tuesday evening. At some point after posting my intro, the reality of what I had posted hit me hard, and I spent the entire rest of the week in a serious funk that bordered on depression. Who was I kidding, my nasty little inner voice asked me. What did I really think I was going to be able to accomplish?
And because I listened to that inner voice, I accomplished almost nothing.
Oh, I went grocery shopping on Thursday, but I haven't actually cooked anything, and yesterday, I confess, I went to Sonic and got the big double cheeseburger and tater tots. And it was delicious. And after I got home, I sat down in front of my computer, feeling like a big fat schlub, and I read Zephyr's post, and I cried a little bit, because I felt like a huge, disgusting, fat loser.
Today has been a bit better. I had an actual breakfast, and an actual lunch, and though I've drunk a Coke, I've only drunk one Coke (rather than six), and I've also drunk some V8. I haven't done anything active, but I've done some things better than I did them yesterday, and that's a step in the right direction.
My biggest problem is fatalism. No matter the project, I feel it's doomed from the start. Then, if things get screwed up, that just reinforces the whole I'm-a-failure motif going on in my head. And then, oh, I feel so much better after a handful of Oreos or a big bowl of ice cream covered in chocolate sauce.
My original goal was to spend two weeks getting my eating habits in order and starting an exercise program. Well, I blew the first week - but I still have another week left. And I'm going to do this, dammit. I can do this. This is not going to beat me.