It must be a sign.  On the day I'm starting my new life and blog.  I went to a store to return something (more on how much I LOVE returning to come) and found the most fabulous red bag.  R E D.  The last time I had a red bag, it was because my BFF Kara dragged me to Penney's to buy something so a) I would stop losing my wallet and b) she would be able to retire from her part-time, unpaid job as wallet holder.  Two months later, Kara got the red visitor back...having never been used except, of course, for the wallet that came with it.  I can't help it.  I hate carrying a purse.  I even hate the word "purse."  Bag, yes.  Clutch, handbag, pocketbook...all acceptable.  But purse, I just can't live with (or carry, obviously).

But this was an oversized red patent laptop bag with all the dividers, pockets and pouches to prove it...on clearance!  And it went perfectly with the person buying it.  Or the person she was on the road to becoming anyway.  So after a squeal of glee and a fast store-just-opened checkout, I was on my way.  On the way to my first hair appointment.

So how, you might be asking, do hair appointments and weight loss go together?  And why six?  

Have you ever seen the show Clean House with Niecy Nash?  Where the fabulous (and big-haired, by the way) Niecy walks into a house and we, as the audience, expel a collective gasp and wonder how in THE world a place could get that bad?  It's always the same story.  "Why, Niecy, I'm living in my own filth and mountains of clutter because I am overwhelmed and don't know where to start."  

Well, me too, sister.  I am 35.  By the time most of you start reading this blog, I'll be 36 (Hopefully not 46).  And I've been in the wrestling ring with fat for most of my life, selling tickets to all my friends and family, as well as the public at large (no pun intended).  Let's just say I've been overweight 27 of those 35 years.  That's 9, 855 days.  9,855 times I told myself I'd just scarf down this last fill-in-the-blank and start fresh tomorrow, or look ahead to some magical date in the future that would be the perfect time to start.  9,855 times I made a promise to myself.  And 9,855 times I broke that promise.  And it's beginning to get a little annoying.

Let's just say you look up a word on dictionary.com and 9,855 entries all say the same thing.  You're going to believe it, right?  Well, that's what this journey is about...believing something about myself that I once found unbelievable.  And starting to erase 9,855 definitions of myself, definitions that are strangely familiar yet every fiber of my being wants to rally against them.  So I figure six hair appointments (and I have to tame these tresses every 6 weeks) is doable.  Like the little engine that could, I think I can make it until the next hair appointment.  And 9 months is enough time to write a new dictionary, don't you think?

This is not going to be a diary detailing every rep at the gym or morsel I put in my mouth.  I have a soap box solely dedicated to people who a) feel like it's their right and responsibility to give unsolicited advice about weight loss and b) reduce the struggle to something that is merely physical.  I'm willing to bet each and every one of you out there has a story to tell on just this subject.  Well, the next time you're hit in an advice-dispensing drive-by, I'll give you a dollar if you dismiss it with a hearty pffffffttttttttttt!     

No...this is going to be a play-by-play of my last wrestling match. After this, I'm retiring.  For any of you who are in the wrestling-with-fat-and-or-destructive-body-issues circuit, you are warmly invited to attend.

Comments

[Mom]

I love you, Elizabeth. You are writing! How delightful to follow your journey. Hugs....Mom

[Nancy]

You are as entertaining in your writing as you are in person! You go girl! - Nancy W.

[Mom]

How much fun to read. This is good, Elizabeth. You made my day! Love you and welcome HOME to Texas today!