ACK

I'm up three pounds this week. That puts me at 172.8, which is perilously close to making me lose my 100-pounds-lost cred.

It's Karen's fault. She lost like six pounds this week, so she must have greebled my loss.

I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I ate like a quarter of a king cake all by myself, and had cupcakes and chocolate cookies and triscuits for Valentine's Day and went out to eat and had mashed potatoes instead of broccoli and went to Rock Band and ate more cupcakes and chips and was generally and in all other ways and complete pig all week. Nope, not at all the problem.

So it's back in the saddle and strict logging and actually measuring portions instead of eyeballing them. And just to be sure, until I've lost those three pounds, plus one more for good measure, I'm cutting out any and all food after 7pm. Doesn't matter if I have points left. Doesn't matter how hungry I am. Doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing or who I'm with. No. Food. After. 7. Until I have an official weigh-in that's below (not at) 169.

I've come too far to let laziness and gluttony triumph over me now.