It's a sad sad day. Weigh in day. Only 0.2 ounces. I mean. That should even be plural. It's 2/10ths of one ounce. The weight of a few hairs from my head. And to think that I wore my lightest clothes, peed before I got weighed, ate nothing, and prayed. Ugh. What the #*+*! That's in two weeks. Yes, some of it is the fall out from that lovely LA eating binge. I accept that. I probably gained weight that week. Which is why I chose not to go to weigh in last week. But I've been a good girl since. A very good girl. An excellent girl. Someone worthy of having lost a few pounds. I'm bummed. But determined. It's okay.
I decided, in a paranoid moment, that WW purposely rigs the scale so that you are dependent on them-you're afraid that if you stop going, you'll balloon out (up?). Not true. I don't believe it. I was just trying to come up with an "excuse". But I'm the excuse. I'll take the hit. It's all me.