It turns out it might have been a mistake to try to get by without a bathroom scale. I borrowed one from Mom a while back, but I haven't been using it. Maybe I just didn't want to know what it would say. Maybe I sorta kinda knew.

Now I'm motivated. When I looked at the scale this morning and saw I number I hadn't seen for ten years, I couldn't believe it. Then I reviewed in my mind what I've been eating lately, and I did believe it. It's still a mind blower, though. I've gained fifteen pounds since the holidays. The five pounds I put on at Christmas brings it to twenty in just a few months.

No wonder I'm out of breath so much. No wonder I'm having a hard time bending over to tie my shoes (or even put on my socks). No wonder my back hurts.

I'm not talking "fat" here. I'm talking about not feeling good, and knowing that I've done it to myself, and knowing that I'm in charge of my own body (at least in this arena). No one has told me I need to lose weight (although I have been told to take better care of myself).This is something I have to do for myself.

The last time I saw Grady, who's lost over a hundred pounds in the last few months, he said, "Soon I'll be as skinny as you are."

"I'm meeting you halfway," I told him, not knowing how close to the truth that pathetic little joke would turn out to be.

Once the giant box of Corn Pops (well, they were on sale) is gone, and once the tub of Häagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche ice cream is gone (sob!), and once the strawberry Pop Tarts (not frosted, thank you) are gone, I won't be restocking. Any beer I buy will be for the snails.

At least I don't have to throw away any cookies. I polished off the big bag of Oreos last weekend.

I need to feel hungry again. That sounds terrible, doesn't it? It sounds as if I'm not grateful for not being hungry. With half of the world starving, I should have a different priority, I suppose, but the only way I'll know that I'm not eating just to keep busy, from some kind of compulsion, is to feel the emptiness.

The resolutions I made for the new year have been hard to keep, but I've done it. I haven't bought any books, CDs or DVDs for myself this year. I want to, but I said I wouldn't and I keep my word, even if no one would ever know. So if I say I'm going to give up compulsive eating, I know I'll do it.

A proactive decision to exercise more is a different matter. Since I don't like using gym equipment or doing calisthenics, I'll run (or walk vigorously) up and down the stairs every day. I thought I could start with ten times, but after six today I was gasping. I still am. And my legs are still wobbly.

So I'll start with six times, and work my way up from that. I don't have a feel for how much I can add how soon, but once I've done this for several days I'll set a goal of adding one trip every two or three or four days, whatever I think I can do without killing myself. It's something, at least.

If all of this had started on January 1, I'd be in much better shape by now. I don't need an arbitrary date to put myself on the right track, though. Friday the thirteenth? Why not?