Tomorrow is February 3. That means that in five months it will be my birthday. The day that will end the 47 for 47 Challenge year. On that day I will have either met my goals or not. I don’t anticipate sitting at the computer on my birthday studying the list, alternately congratulating myself and beating myself up, although I suppose that could happen. Just knowing that the list is there for all to see and wonder at is pretty powerful motivation to get going on some of those items.

The whole reason I began blogging was for me to spout off about how wonderful I am (or not) and how great a job I was doing taking care of myself (or not). Sadly, it’s been more of the not, but happily, the blog has grown beyond that original seed of an idea, so even with my many screw ups there’s still something interesting to read from time to time. There must be. People keep coming back, and new readers find me and follow BulgingButtons every day. How amazing is that?

But I digress. It’s a talent of mine. Not digression per se, but procrastination. I’m taking the long way around telling you that I’m ready to get back up on that horse. I’m ready to eat my fruits and veggies and do my exercise. I’m ready to drink my water and hold myself accountable. I’m ready to try again.

I know, you’ve heard it all before. You are patient, bearing with me all this time. You’ve listened to me wax poetic about delicious meals and sedentary pursuits. You’ve endured my whiny musings on feeling low, sick, discouraged, and frustrated. You’ve nodded politely when I’ve gotten excited about some small victory or another, and through it all you’ve hung in there with me. You are warriors.

You tune in hoping for some news of progress, some positive report from the front line, but I offer you little. A scrap here, a morsel there. Still, you support me. You forgive me my sins. You remind me that I’m only human, after all. You offer your hugs and support and encouragement and laughter. You open your worlds to me, and what do I give you in return?

Hopefully you know that I give you a piece of myself. I write from the heart (how disgustingly cliche, I’m sorry). I don’t sugar coat, and I don’t worry much about hurt feelings. I do, but not in my writing, because I’m generally a pretty open-minded nice person. I’m not likely to say anything cutting or mean, so I don’t worry about censoring myself, after all, I know I’m not going to yell at you. I’m far more likely to yell at me.

I try to give you something to think about, or smile at. I try to stay positive and upbeat and focus on the good things in life. I try to offer my observations and experiences in a way that’s interesting or thought provoking. I’m not trying to tell anyone who to be or what to think, but I’m allowing you all a glimpse of who I am and what I think. That doesn’t sound like a significant contribution to the good of humankind, but right now it’s what I’ve got to offer, take it or leave it.

This was supposed to be the year of loving myself enough to do all that I needed to make my life as wonderful as possible. I’ve done a lot of positive things, but I have so much more to do. It’s a little like getting my house ready to sell. I want to fixate on tiny inconsequential things at the expense of the obvious. In terms of the house it’s simple, CLEAN UP. In terms of my life it’s simple too, LOSE WEIGHT.

I think I can lose 50 pounds in 5 months. That’s sane and safe and would go a long way toward improving my health and life. There, I’ve written it. That makes it real.

I’m cleaning up and resisting the temptation to do silly things like rearrange drawers. I’m also committing to eating better and moving more. That’s about as much as I can handle right now. I did go to the grocery store and purchase some delicious mandarins, salad, yogurt, carrots, hummus, orange juice, and water to wash it all down.

I also purchased some light beer. Hey, it’s the Super Bowl, and the sweetheart is in the kitchen cooking his yearly pot of gourmet chili. I better take my walk before the festivities begin. Besides, the 3rd isn’t until tomorrow.