Well, I’ve been looking at my calendar and dreading this past week for over a month. I started chanting “it’s going to be over in 5 days, it’s going to be over in 5 days, it’s going to be over in 5 days” on Monday and kept it up most of the week.

I survived.

I have one more pretty big event to deal with and then I’m DONE with (school/work) stress (for the most part) minus the day-to-day crises, which are totally manageable.

I weighed myself on Friday and found that I’m down a pound to 191.0. I’m happy I made it off the 192 plateau, but not too happy. I’ve done it before. I have no hope it will last and I really just don’t care.

I’m very seriously in one-day-at-a-time mode with the weight loss. I was going to try to write down my food every day, was going to try the zone block thing, was going to commit to take pictures every day – but it’s just not doable.

I’m doing ok. It’s pretty fucking ridiculous that I’m SO close to my goal and am struggling so much – but it is what it is.

Upside to the situation (besides the 1 pound loss) – I went shopping yesterday and fit into a size 12. I very marginally want to believe that my training (which I’m consistent with) is resulting in the building of muscle and reduction of fat, but I’ve always rolled my eyes at that …. so … can’t really go there. Whatever the reason, I can’t remember ever being below a 14, so I’m feeling pretty happy about that.

Jon spent some time today getting us ready for the upcoming week despite not feeling overly well.

He hurt his back sometime last week while lifting weights. Unlike me, he doesn’t bitch and whine incessantly, so I had no idea exactly how badly he’d hurt himself until he came home from work early one afternoon and laid in bed the rest of the day. I don’t know that he’s ever – throughout the history of our relationship – come home or stayed home from work because of an illness or injury.

He’s a freak. A freak who never gets sick, never complains, and will clean out a garage and cook without once saying a word about how his back is still killing him until it’s all done and I tell him he looks tired. I’m not sure how he does it – I’d whine and complain about every twinge. Seriously.

He cooked a chicken for lunch salads.

Boiled some eggs for quick snacks.

And made homemade yogurt.

Henry seems to have no complaints – except that he’d love to have some of that chicken.