How can one be stuffed, and still feel the need to eat. Surely there is something seriously wrong here.
I didn't check the time when I left, but Kaylee and I made it out for a walk, after perusing the Montanaeque form of my figure in the mirror and trying to talk myself out of it. Who wants to see this? How can I go walkabout looking like this? The anticipatory shame almost overwhelmed my common sense, which thank heavens I was born with, but it failed to keep me from going through the motions. Walking socks, warm moccasins, gloves on my hands, then out the door with Kaylee on her leash. Many times she stopped and gave me the 'please can't we just go home' look, big sad eyes tinged with apprehension. On the course of our meanderings she was lunged at twice by big ferocious dogs, so I can't really get mad at her. I just tell her I'll protect her and gently urge her along. What torture it must be for her, on those short little dachshund legs, feeling the height of the world pressing down. But my quiet desperation prevailed and we took what was a long walk for her - over a mile and a half.
Yes it was painful at times, but the day was gorgeous and it was good to be outside for a change.
No giving up, no more mashed potatoes this year, and no more wallowing.
Walk, align, work, and eat plants - obviously the feel good particles from my walk are hard at work. Evidenced by my urge to type, Bazinga!
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