discipline (lyn)

On my way to buy nesting measuring cups so I can more accurately know what a 1/2 cup of strawberries looks like (still can't believe I care this much), I pass a Mr. Clean Eraser---a cleaning product that promises to be great on "concentrated cleaning."  I think it is the name that gets me.  Eraser.  I like it.  Descriptive.  Visual.  Effective.  I buy it, and it is amazing.  I become a wild woman, erasing all the scuff marks on my white walls, taking 10 years of built up grime off my white media center that used to be called a wall unit, and dispensing easily of the grey stains on my white cabinet doors.  So excited by this new find, I email some friends to tell them of this discovery.  Some are thankful, but one writes back, "Man, the weirdest shit gets you excited these days...," and while I laugh at this, I think she's right.  She's jokingly referring to my enthusiasm for a household cleaning product, but it makes me wonder how far I've traveled from my own sense of self.


When I think of people on WW, I absolutely don't think of me.  Like when I read about some 58-year old person in the paper, I picture some middle-aged, grey-haired not-so-exciting person, until I remember that I'm 58.  Same with WW.  I picture a group of middle aged, very heavy women, unable to lose weight on their own so reluctantly they've resorted to WW.  But it's nothing like that.


I feel like I've discovered some new cult (not that WW is cult-ish).  I so love the results I'm seeing, that I mostly don't even mind eating less.  


And people noticed this week.  Shari told me my face was "less juicy," Zelia said, "you really do look thinner," when I saw her today, and Meredith told me tonight "it's really working; I can see it."


I got home from theater around 10 tonight and met up with my son at the ice cream store around the corner from where we live. I was glad he had ordered strawberry vs, the chocolate chip I love.  It made it easy to come home and catch up on our day while biting into a black plum.