Getting Smaller

About three weeks ago, I did a post regarding the insidiousness of diet-creep; how, when you aren't looking, White Death and his best old buddy Lardo, sneak up behind you on little pig feet and all of a sudden, you look up and realize you are eating a lot of stuff you don't really want to be eating.

Well, actually, you do want to be eating it, but you know you shouldn't. Those not-paying-attention treats that just, you know, somehow manifested in the cupboard, appeared as if by magic in the pantry. Where did those cookies come from? Oh, well, as long as they are here, might as well eat a couple. Or twelve ...

So, I bucked up my resolve, having once again removed the scales from my so-so eyes, and decided to cut back on sugar and fat and–alas–beer. Not completely, you understand, one needs a safety valve or the boiler might blow out, but making each choice to step into the realm of Junkfoodia a conscious one. 

It's the unconscious eating that gets you. 

Actually, it's the unconscious anything that gets you. Mindfulness is more rewarding pretty much across the board. How does the song go? Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think ...

And by this, I don't mean carpe diem to the extend that you slip the governors and run madly down the corridors of excess, but that you be in the moment, whatever you are doing.

Um. And why am I here today? Just to point out that by choosing to dial down the junk food, looking away from White Death and Lardo, and nothing else, I've tightened up a belt notch and dropped eight pounds. Not my intent, that's just a by product, but there you go.