When you are losing weight -- or NOT losing it, though I seem to be making progress just now -- everything seems connected to your trials. If you quit the office just before the holiday party spread goes down, as I did yesterday, self-satisfaction makes the rest of your day a little brighter. (I've tried not to let it swell into smugness.)
When Christmas music plays on an intercom while you're grabbing dinner before a movie, the lyrics reshape themselves in your head. Burl Ives might be singing "Have a Chubby, Tubby Christmas." Dean Martin croons, "O Come, Grab a Plateful." Bing Crosby chimes in with "Do You Eat What I Eat?"
You look around at the people swarming around malls and noshing on popcorn and lattes and ice cream as they go and wonder how they can eat all day long. (Forgetting, of course, that YOU were once capable of the exact same behavior.) It's not obsession with eating habits, exactly -- at least, I hope it isn't -- but you reflect on food at least once every day.
As long as this behavior doesn't become compulsive, I suppose it's healthy. I tightened all my belts this year from the third to the fourth holes, and today one actually fit into the fifth hole -- not comfortably, as I had to suck in my gut, but it did go (before I loosened it again). I must be headed in the proper direction.
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