A huge load dropped off my shoulders today. I quit WeightWatchers. I'm not criticizing the program at all. Indeed, it helped me lose, at one point, 14 lbs, though now it's only eight. But it also helped me shed some bad, indulgent habits, and now I do measure and weigh food and drink. I don't eat ice cream with chocolate sauce at night, nor bread slathered with butter. But as those of you who've followed the blog know, I was compulsive about points. About two weeks ago I spent a week coming in below my allotted points (19, which is not many) and way above on my exercise points--and still gained over a pound. I decided it was foolish of me. At my age, I should be eating the things I enjoy. I happened to have a doctor's appt. today, and discussed it with him. He said my weight is just about right for my age and height and gave me a 10-lb. range to stay within. His advice: eat what you enjoy, but do it in moderation, with modest helpings. I knew all along I wasn't overweight, but I just kept dreading what would happen. Strangely, since I quit paying such strict attention I have maintained a cosntant weight. But now I feel liberated. I will weigh once a week, watch what's happening, and adjust accordingly. And I'll still eat a lot of tuna fish.
But I've decided I'm compulsive in another area--the guilty pleasure of reading. Guilty only because it keeps me from doing other work. I'm reviewing a book for the Story Circle Network--when it arrived and I looked through it, I came near yawning. But last night I got into it, enjoyed it a lot, and now I've not put it down. And I've not worked on my novel, though I did go to a meeting at the office this morning--I don't procrastinate on that business, just on my own writing. A sign of insecurity, I'm sure.