73 days

73 Days, enough tears to get the Rio Grande flowing to the Gulf, several dog fights, a brain fuddling date with COVID and an indefinite ban on half of the stuff I love has resulted in the removal of all the nasty fat I've acquired since I moved to the 3rd coast in 2015. I'm still by definition morbidly obese. I'm still desirous of a smothered burrito. At any given moment my mood vacillates between rejected teen and feral toddler. The face in the mirror still sports four cheeks and three chins. But 3.6 BMI points lower is a good thing. I still don't have the severe sleep apnea handled - file that under "dogfight" and perhaps it is slightly insane - but I am hardwired to keep headbutting the wall until the plaster cracks.