i'm out of sorts.

Today is a bad day. I feel like I am losing my mind.

It’s hard for me to know where to begin. I have always been the kind of person who spirals out of control into my moods. Maybe that makes me bipolar – I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m in a hole right now.

I’ve been mean today. I’ve been short. I’ve been unnecessarily snarky. I don’t expect people to enjoy my company today.

It started last night.

We planned to bake for an office party today and I was really excited to bake. I haven’t had much of a chance to lately so I was very much looking forward to it.

We got some takeout pizza and you would think that’s where it went badly. It didn’t. We ate the pizza and since they were only 10” pies, portion control was much simpler. We ate, laughed a bit, and then Carl started making his lasagna while I started baking my cake.

Now we take a wrong turn into FML-ville.

The cake was an odd shape. I don’t have a Wilton hemisphere baking pan or even one of those dome soccer ball molds. So I decided that I would bake my cake in a Pyrex bowl. SCIENCE.

Like most experiments, it failed miserably. It refused to cook in the middle and after an hour, I knew the outer part of the cake was going to get rubbery. So, out it came. Failure cake.

It set me off. I wanted this cake to work out so badly that I literally just gave up when it didn’t. The bitterness stayed with me all night over having another baking adventure fall flat. Then I got curious.

Carl went upstairs to shave because it’s the winter and he easily becomes woodsman-like.

I got up and crept into the kitchen.

I stared at the cake.

I poked the cake.

Then I got a fork.

I am an asshole. I stood there like a fucking Betty Crocker crackhead squirrel storing chocolate cake acorns in my cheeks. Before I knew it, I had eaten a giant hole in this cake. The worst part? It was almost cooked. If I would have left it alone for about an hour straight, it would have cooked. I seethed.

Now, I can hear Carl wrapping up in the bathroom. I scurry back into the living room when he comes down the stairs and wait for the, “What the hell with the cake honey?!”, because I've asked him to hold me accountable when I do shit like this.

He delivers.

The guilt comes. My cheeks are hot with shame. I go to bed feeling less than nothing because of my own accord.

This morning, I got up and I just felt like I wanted to throw a punch. Thank god my dog looks like a stuffed animal and is too cute to even allow me to entertain feeling badly. A quick snuggle and lick from her and I think it will be okay.

But as the morning continued, I realized I am just in a foul ass mood. One that I cannot shake for the life of me.

Our carpool into work was mostly silence with background tones of radio. Everything made me angry.

I realized that I don’t like the person I am right now. When did I start feeling the need to sneak food? When did I lose control of myself so that I can’t even tear myself away from a ruined cake?

When did my life’s primary focus become food? When did I choose to start living to eat instead of eating to live?

Carl’s explanation made it seem so simple. We want what we can’t have. The second that we say something is taboo, we want it even more. But right now, it feels like I can only operate in two extremes: eating everything or eating nothing.

I have to ask myself – what do I want? Do I want to have this forever imbalanced tug of war with food while my weight yo-yo’s? FOREVER?

Or – do I want to do something about it? I want to do something about it.

Last time, I made a conscious choice. I said, today is the day. And it was. I went from 170 lbs to 140lbs. I've done it before.

This time? I’m struggling doing that. Today is the day turns into next week. And now I’m facing a reality of having 11 weeks to get to 125lbs.

I know deep down that I can do it. Right now, it doesn’t feel like I can. I am so discouraged by my own behavior and lack of commitment to anything that my goals just seem so far away.

I want to run outside. But it’s too dark when I wake up and too dark when I get home. Safety first, so that’s out.

The treadmill is still at our old house. I can’t use something that isn’t here. Tapes aren’t working for me. Any gyms that are nearby are wicked expensive (like $70/month expensive with $150 sign up fee– hell no).

I feel stuck. I know I’m running out of time. I feel the failure surrounding me because the wedding is my last hurrah. If I don’t lose this weight now, I never will. It really is my last chance and I know I will be so ashamed if I walk down the aisle looking how I do right now.

I know Carl loves me as  I am and many of you will say I look fine. But *I* don’t think I look fine. This is not what’s okay for me.

Something needs to change.