Perfectionism

Figures. The first thing I would do this morning, the first day of my epic best diet EVAR, is break it. I am on a 10 day course of antibiotics for lady bits issues, the morning installment of which I'm supposed to take at 5 AM. I got up, stumbled to the kitchen in my half-conscious, foraging bear state, and made that pill mine with a big 'ol swig of chocolate milk. Scandal. I never buy chocolate milk and the only reason we had it is because the Wal-Mart checker accidentally gave me 2 extra bags of groceries this week that weren't mine. Irony. I also spaced weighing myself naked before ingesting anything today (though I did clock in at 365.4 a few days ago when I was testing the scale.) Annoyance. At this point the theoretical sock puppet representing me is getting its little face bashed into the desk. Bad Zell.

All of us perfectionists out there know the feeling of allowing a minor mistake to derail us from major achievement. I could write you an infinite list of examples of opportunities I turned down just because I was afraid I might not be the best performer of that task who ever lived. I'll be lucky if I fit that bill for even one thing I attempt in this life. I won't be alone if I don't.

I have a feeling real world perfection would be to stick with the promise I've made to myself through the end, no matter how many times I fuck it up along the way. I've set an attainable goal here --- less than 2 pounds a week. I'm starting with diet modification only at first, planning to add in exercise a little at a time as my metabolism slows. I have a long road to walk. I have 245ish pounds to lose and my lifestyle is borderline sedentary at the moment, not to mention the limitations and fear of pain my Frankenstein-style ankle fracture and repair have afforded me. Yet somehow, I know that slowly, steadily I can climb down this mountain.

So I'm going to take a breath, crack open a can of Slim-Fast, and keep walking.