Repeat. Toss. Unravel. Spring back up. Finish line beyond grasp. Clothes getting tight again. Then oh so much better. But wait. Even daily walks don't keep the demons at bay. The familiar chrome yellow bag of peanut M&Ms at the checkout counter. The urge to bake for friends, board meetings, hostess gifts. Truth be told because I like to lick the bowl. Temptations lurk. Everywhere. Up. Down. Up. Down.
It is nearly half a decade and I know where it is. My yo-yo. Can go to it blind. Safely nestled in the lidless plastic Tupperware container that has divided the art supplies from my memorabilia in the bottom drawer of my cherry Queen Anne slant top desk in the bedroom. Right next to the red and scratched silver metal kazoo from my All Girls Kazoo band on tour in 1971 Santa Fe.
Not a real girls group, mind you. We just needed a gig so we could dazzle the hippie patrons of that smoke filled coffee house near the plaza where local Navajos spread colorful blankets along the sidewalks of the pueblo-inspired buildings selling turquoise bracelets and concho belts. Sophomore intersession. Eight long limbed, long haired young women studying the effects of multiculturalism on the legislation New Mexico at the time of Cesar Chavez and striking itinerant farmers from south of the border. Pass/fail, of course.
God, I'm off track. Very. Yo-yos. Fluctuations. Up. Down. Around. Embarrassing really. In the span of 59 days I have been almost two-thirds there. The finish line in the cross hairs. Twice. Shed 9 pounds two times since champagne corks popped a few months ago. Gained it back in a matter of moments. And the trip to southern California for Izzy's big day is next week. Need to fit slimmingly into my clothes. It is after all Oscar week. Time to take my Duncan for a spin. It's either that or Spanxx. Four more to go. Again!
Cheers ... this time to success. Yo-yo, be damned!