Exercising my rights . . .

to exercise. Okay, that was a lame one, so sue me. But this morning Joe and I tried to take Molly for a walk. We got halfway down the block, when a stray dog came darting out from between two houses. Okay, we thought, we'll go the other direction. We got almost to our house, when another loose dog darted out. So things got a little interesting. Joe got Molly to the front door while I kept telling both dogs to shoo. Then I took her in while Joe tried to find the owners of the dogs. One dog belonged to a family on our street, but the other did genuinely seem to be a stray. It ran off, and I thought it was safe for me to go ahead and take a very disconsolate Molly for her walk. Big mistake. The dog came back. So Molly and I walked at a very rapid pace while Joe distracted the other dog. I definitely earned some activity points this morning.

Then tonight I got the brilliant idea to watch Morgan Spurlock's Supersize Me. I love the movie, and I love it even more now that I've made tremendous progress in detoxing. I honestly couldn't tell you the last time I ate at McDonalds or Wendy's. I haven't had a soda in months, barring the three or four sips I reluctantly took (at Joe's insistence) of 7-Up on Christmas night. But as I watched the movie, I felt compelled to set up my Gazelle and do a fast-paced 20 minute workout.

It's funny to realize that over the last several months I have come to really enjoy exercising. It's something I look forward to, and enjoy doing. I must also confess that it was really exciting to find that my butt no longer touches both sides of the Gazelle. That was gratifying. And when I plugged in my height and weight into a BMI calculator, it was also gratifying to learn that I've gone from morbidly obese to severely obese. I don't feel severely obese. It's all a matter of perception, I suppose. Someone who doesn't know me at all would probably look at me and be appalled at how fat I am. But someone who does know me would look at me and call me a big loser, or, like one of my co-workers, call me slim and sexy. I'm obviously far from slim, but I feel slim, and I'm feeling confident and healthy and active, and it feels good. So does the confidence and health and activity and good that I feel make a difference in the perception of the total stranger? Would that total stranger perceive me as a little smaller than I actually am, because I feel so self-confident and healthy? Or would it make no difference?

It doesn't matter, of course, because I don't care overmuch what anyone thinks about me. It's too taxing to worry about anyone else's opinion. The people whose opinions matter love me anyway, and those who don't don't matter.

It's 10:43 on New Year's Eve. I'm valiantly fighting the urge to make resolutions. I tried to make anti-resolutions last year, and even that didn't work. I didn't read all the books I could have. I ate oatmeal a few times. And I refuse to go look at that list again to see all the other ways I failed. I could make absolutely no-fail resolutions, like resolving to stay a non-smoker, but I don't want to tempt fate. So I'm going to remain resolutely resolution-free. No resolutions. I'm boycotting the resolutions this year.

Now it's 10:46 p.m. on New Year's Eve. My tender-hearted husband just brought our spoiled dog a bowl of milk. Said spoiled dog is laying with her head on the pillows on the futon on top of my satin cover and on top of the blanket. I'm about to evict her. He is tender-hearted, and I am an evil bit-cah. Bwa-ha-ha-ha.

Dangit! I don't get to be evil. She just heard the neighbors' dogs barking, and jumped off the bed to join in the 10:47 bark. Oh, well. As long as I get the futon back, I don't care how. And besides, my tender-hearted husband also brought me half a banana. And it's okay that he only brought me half a banana, because he also gave me half his tangerine an hour ago. 'Cause he's just sweet like that.

Happy New Year, everybody. Peace, love, joy, harmony, and every good thing to you and yours.