ww pointsSurprise! I’m back! Oh, that? That’s just the tire marks from the damn wagon.

Which leads me to…guess what I did? I joined Weight Watchers. Again.

Seriously? Yeah. Seriously.

And, hey! You know how that makes me feel? Like a freaking failure.

I know it shouldn’t. The peppy little rah-rah cheerleader in my head is all, “You can do it! Yes you can! If you can’t do it…”

At which point, I punch her in her perky little jaw.

Because I’m just so pissed at myself that I’m back here again. A place I swore I’d never be after keeping the weight off and feeling good for four goddamn years.

But here I am and it feels really, really crappy. And like a losing battle. And like maybe I should just give up. Cuz what’s the point? I’m never going to succeed for good. I’m never going to have this beat. What’s that saying? That the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results? Why do I keep expecting different results? Maybe I should just be fat and out of shape and not fight it anymore.

Um, so, that voice^^^^? That’s the whiny little loser in my head. She wears baggy clothes, and stays inside all day and loves Funyuns. That’s the one I feed, both figuratively and literally. I know I shouldn’t. But damn, Funyuns are good.

Then why the hell did I sign up for Weight Watchers today? I guess it’s my way of punching the loser in her whiny little jaw. Because somewhere between the cheerleader and the loser is the real me. The one who’s not quite ready to give up even though she has eleventy jillion doubts about herself and her chances of success.

So on Monday, I’ll put on my lightest clothes, drive to the WW site, be greeted by a kind and sympathetic receptionist, weigh in, throw up in my mouth a little, and then sit through a meeting with a bunch of other overweight women who have also probably been there a hundred times before, all hoping this time will be different.

And who knows? Maybe this time it will be.