For the first fucking time in my 51 years, 3 months, 5 days of existence, I am facing having to diet and I don’t like it one bit.

I am lucky that I’ve always been underweight or thin so I have absolutely no idea how to watch what I eat or even what my ideal weight is.

As I’ve aged, the weight crept up and found a home on my belly. This is ghastly! Feeling lumpy and fat, I stepped on the scale:

128.2. Holy fuck!

I stripped off all my clothes.

126.8.

I peed.

126.6. Sweet Jesus!

Okay, time to get serious. This sucks. I’m not sure if I have to lose 16.6 or 11.6 pounds. I’m not even sure that I can do it. I don’t know how to watch what I eat because I’ve never had to. I don’t want to cut carbs completely because I love them, but I am watching my portions. I’m trying to drink water, which I hate. I am limiting my beloved Pepsi to meals only. I will reduce my salt when I’m dead. And, I stopped making my morning iced coffee with half and half, adding only a splash instead of a full glass of sweet, delicious cream and reduced the three (yes, THREE!) heaping spoons of sugar to just one. I started running again, with a vengeance (hating every step, of course).

I took a “before” picture but I won’t post it unless I like the “after”.

Bear with me, I may get pissy (though no one in the world would know the difference).