It’s not exactly a secret that I am not pleased with the (albeit small) amount of weight I have put on since getting married. I’ve attempted to blame it on any number of things, but in the end, all that really matters is that my pants don’t fit, I feel fat, and I am not happy.

I’ve (half-heartedly) attempted several solutions: eating healthier (yech), eating less (grrrrowl, hungry all the time!), walking (boring and ineffective)… to no avail. I’ve floated other options: taking up smoking, drug use, an eating disorder… you get the idea. None of those are very attractive. (I jest, truly, that I would even seriously ponder any of those options. And while they are all fairly proven-effective ways of losing weight, none are healthy and none of you, my dear readers whom I love, should ever attempt them.)

I’ve pondered becoming content with the situation, but alas, I am not.

There are some other things to consider as well. I don’t actually like exercise, I have determined. Yeah, not a fan. Plus, running seems to make me hurt in bad ways, not that good muscle-burn-you-know-you’re-doing-something-healthy way. And, I actually gained weight after we joined the gym and started working out, and not “muscle weighs more than fat” weight, but “my pants don’t fit” weight. Not exactly motivating. Also, I don’t really like salads, unless they’re covered with things that seem to reduce their healthiness, like ranch dressing and cheese chunks and bacon.

My 3-week experiment with 30 minutes of walking every day (and I was nearly successful with that – the only days I didn’t were those that I managed to do a lot of physical labor anyways) failed miserably, leaving me to my backup plan. My secret backup plan. Which I started last week.

I know, the suspense is killing you, isn’t it?

I’m trying Slimquick. I’ve never done such a thing in my life. It’s drastic, or at least it feels drastic to me (it certainly felt drastic to my wallet, that’s for sure). And I’m not entirely sure that it’s working. Yes, the first day I miraculously lost 2 pounds, which I think was entirely water, but the next day I’d gotten one of them back, and I haven’t really weighed myself since, so I can’t tell you what’s happened other than that I’m still fatter than I want to be.

There was a fair amount of research done before taking such a step. And I was careful and self-monitored (people complain about racing heart feelings and so forth, since it’s got caffeine and other stimulants in it) and promised myself I’d stop taking it if I felt like I was going to die. Which I haven’t. The first day week you take one pill twice a day, and today is the first day of the second week, where you take two pills twice a day (and that’s what you continue on for the rest of however long it is you decide to try to lose weight the easy cheater’s way). I’ll admit, as a person who is fairly tolerant to caffeine as long as it’s before 5 pm, I felt a little jittery that first day. But just the first day. And today, as the second first day (or the first day of the second week, to put it more eloquently), I also feel a bit jittery. If I feel that way again tomorrow, I will reconsider this plan entirely, but I assume that my body will adjust. (The one side effect I have noticed that I haven’t enjoyed is that I feel more nauseous more often, which is something I struggle with anyways, so this plan may be aborted soon if I can’t get a grip on that.)

That was a long bit of me talking just to say… I’m a bit wired and hopped up right now. And there’s no one here at work to talk to or anything to do. Plus, I’m super tired still, because I’ve been feeling like I’m burning the candle at both ends (lots of homework and housework and… whatever will do that to a girl).

Edited to add:

I realize that, at some point, I will have to give up my lazy-a** dream of ever fitting into my pants again without hard work. I will have to exercise and eat salads and baked chicken (goodbye, lovely breaded and fried chicken, goodbye egg rolls, goodbye donuts and cookies and lovely coffee drinks) and a whole bunch of other icky things, because, I will come to realize, I am now over 30 (just a few weeks, really) and my metabolism has surely plummeted and there are no secret shortcuts to being slender. And I will gripe and complain and either decide to buy bigger pants or do the hard work (jury’s still out on that one). And then it will be like other aspects of my grown-up life, where I do things I don’t want to do because they need to be done and that’s what you do, like washing dishes and vacuuming and homework. For now, however, I’m going to keep pretending that I’m 29 and that my secretly svelte self is just beneath the surface waiting for the slightly pudgier version to crumble into pieces or dissolve into nothingness or something similarly substantial-less-ness.