Fickle Pickle
Fickle Pickle

My domain name expires in October, and I’m considering something a little easier to remember. I reminded myself today just how fickle I am, and I thought … What rhymes with fickle? PICKLE. The Fickle Pickle. I probably won’t use it, but I did discover that theficklepickle.me is available. I’ll sleep on it.

Just in case anyone is curious about what brought on this new realism of my fickleness, it’s this freakin’ weight issue. Will power is almost nonexistent. I never had to watch what I ate until I hit that m – m – mi – mid-life thing. I even have a hard time saying that! Just as fast as I say I’m pissed off about it and want to do something about it, I turn around and think  … Who cares?! I should embrace it; accept myself as I am.

Keeping it real…

That’s just an excuse to cheat and binge on sugary, fatty, carb-laden foods without guilt. It’s an excuse to get out of exercising because I fear the headaches that always follow a workout.

I don’t even mind the number on the scale (much); I just wish it were distributed better. But, since it isn’t, I either deal with sweating between rolls of back and side fat and continue to be uncomfortable just sitting or do something about it.

I think I need to sleep on this as well. Sleep often changes things. See? Fickle.

SK

Written by Sheila K

I don't believe humans truly have a purpose. Our goal is to survive until we expire. Period. Joy is pleasurable and worrying is not. Balance in life is crucial; but if the scales must tip, may they tip on the side of joy. I’m just another human trying to survive. I blog because I can and because I enjoy it, not because it serves any purpose.

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