Love is.

Has it really been a month since my last time here? Poor little neglected Vox weblog. I might start using this space to talk about weight loss. Maybe. Possibly. Soonish. But maybe not, because I don't want to become (more) boring. Also, I find that if I talk about anything too much, it's as if I've been there, done that, and I quit. I'd sort of like to avoid that, you know?

Anyway, for now, I will tell you that I've lost thirty pounds in the past three months, but have been plateaued for the past two weeks (and it's completely my fault...mostly). I've been slipping back into old habits, because old habits are like your favorite pair of jeans; the most comfortable things in your (proverbial) closet.

No more of that, though. This week I've been (almost) back on track, and with all new endeavors, like drinking a gallon of water every day, which makes me very grateful that my desk at work is less than 20 feet from the ladies' room (now; if only my headset were wireless). This is a daunting prospect for a girl who, heretofore, considered three cans of Diet Coke her daily liquid requirement, with a glass of water or two for variety (this hasn't really been true for a few months now - I'm down to less than a can of pop per day).

Two weeks ago, possibly longer, I paid a lot of money to join the gym, and I haven't been back since my initial sign up visit. I'm wasting perfectly good money and some truly awesome treadmills (these have little individual televisions on each machine) because I'm scared and maybe a little lazy. My goal for this week is to start going, and to (quickly) get back into the habit of going regularly like I was in Virginia Beach.

So.  Lots of water, and soon, lots of gymming. I'm also cutting out all sugar, because trust me when I say that I can't have sugar. One spoonful of Nutella becomes an entire jar, which leads to a trip to the grocery for more chocolate, and some ice cream, and perhaps an entire Entenmann's Lemon Coconut cake. I've lived it, and I've tried it in moderation, and it just doesn't work for me. Ever. In my body, sugar is like crack.

I do understand that it's worth all the effort. I like it when my pants fall off (in the privacy of my apartment). Besides, I have a lot to look forward to; my 50 pound goal treat is a haircut, color and a mani at my salon, and the second that I hit the 75 pounds lost mark, I'm laying down cash for some hot Oliver Peoples sunglasses, in that color. I'll get there. I just have to keep telling myself that I want these things more than, say, an entire bucket of original recipe chicken from KFC.

Sometimes it's a struggle to make that decision, but I always come to my senses, eventually. This time, I'm hoping to stay here, sense intact. I won't lie and say it's easy. Anyone who's lost any amount of weight knows that it can be ridiculously hard. If I'm going to be completely honest, I should tell you that it's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, and that it's taking me a long, long time to learn that food is not love.

Food is not love, and pretending that it is leads to heartbreak. I don't know about the rest of you who are struggling with anything like this, but I am so over that heartbreak.