This morning, I forgot to weigh myself . . . and didn’t have an anxiety attack about it.

I was distracted by figuring out dog stuff and doing some dishes and making tea and I completely forgot to step on the scale and dutifully note and/or record my weight.

So, that’s worthy of note.

The Writer, who has seen me naked at this point more than anyone else this year always — always — says “you’re perfect, don’t change a thing.” Because he knows I obsess and I don’t see myself accurately.

I weigh ten pounds more than I want and yet last night’s very handsome date asked how I could remain so thin with my lifestyle. And insisted I take home the truffle pizza we ordered.

There is still a chance I will trigger on something and start to cycle down, but despite the stress and strain of my daily life, I’ve not dropped to a disturbing weight.

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