a weighty sigh

this morning dawned full of possibilities clouded by expectations. I gave up dinner, I didn't snack past 5pm! I resolutely ellipticized till my feet were tingly after a powerful, intense yoga practice. I made spicy pasta for Mr. DooferHoofer and didn't even nibble during prep! Surely my perseverence has paid off, no?

No.

Really? No?

Ummm, no.

Blimey! You've got to be kidding me!

Yeah, still no. Negatory. Nil. Uh-uh. Nope. Nada mucho, chica. Back at it.

*SIGH*

(which does no good as my inside voice of realism is not at all affected by irritated sighs, not to mention guilt, whining, moodiness, plea bargaining, or bribery)

160.5--Almost as teasingly non-sub-160 as you can get. So FINE then. I can take it. It's not just Tuesday. It's April Fool's Day. Maybe this is my body's way of punking my psyche.

Grr.

So new mission, should I choose to accept it (and I always do): Make it to 158 by the end of the week (Sunday morning weigh-in). Can she do it? (I'm stifling that inner voice right now--realism is kind of a bitch sometimes). And anyway, YES I CAN!