At least, indulging in treat feast food, which has resulted in my weight skyrocketing up by three kilos from the heavier side of 94. In just as many days, I have managed to undo three months' worth of exercise and treat rationing.
I have to limit myself, once more, or see in the new year as a butterball.
I'm going to get down to the vicinity of 80 kilos, next year, if it takes me most of that time to do so.
Meanwhile, I have plenty of exercise potential in the laundry room and the kitchen sink. I'm going to nibble the mountain down on a daily basis. And if I keep ahead of the washing up, there's a high chance that I can keep the kitchen clean for the rest of next year.
Everyone laugh now. You'll save time.
I have to tackle this with the same bloody-minded determination that I tackled writing my first book, and every book thereafter. Set a goal, keep a goal. Every day for perpetuity.
I know it works, because I have a considerable volume of titles under my belt, now. [Someone purchased all my paid titles in one go, a few days ago. Thank you, random benefactor!] All I have to do is extend that spoon management to (ugh) physical activity.
Yeah, I'm a laugh riot today.
Onwards, ever onwards, into the grinding wheel of work that is never to be finished...