I'm Mad As Hell, And I'm Not Going To Take It Anymore

Last night, I was working out on my elliptical, sweating away, watching Rachel Ray, while listening to my iPod.

During the middle of the workout, I got this wave of anger that swept over me (surprisingly, it wasn't because of Rachel Ray).

I am sick and tired of these goddamned 20 pounds squatting on my body for the past 2 years.

I gained 60 pounds while pregnant with Jacob, and I lost 40 of them. Those 40 pounds of fat cells knew they had overstayed their welcome and they scrammed.

But these last 20 have made themselves quite comfortable and I let them hang out.

Well, no more!

I'm sick of:

eating to lose weight

I'm sick of:

thinking about losing weight

I'm sick of:

reading articles about losing weight

I'm sick of:

working out to lose weight

I'm sick of:

depriving myself of buying new clothes because if I buy them and lose weight, I'll just have to get rid of them.

I'm serving an eviction notice to my 20 pounds and by the end of April, they'll be thrown out onto their tiny, plump asses.

I want to get to a point where losing weight isn't an issue for me.

I want to get to a point where if I gain 5 pounds because I pig out during the holidays, then all I have to do is lose 5 pounds instead of it adding to my pile o' fattiness.

I don't want to lose weight anymore.

I'm done with playing around with these little fuckers.

Beat it.
Scram.
Take a long walk off a short pier.

And now I'm doubley piping hot PISSED because my template is all fucked up after inserting that fucking countdown fucker fuck fuck piss mother fucking fuck fat fucking fat cells fuckers fffffffffffffffffUCK!!!!!!