I got my D*C pics this morning. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to have Craig scan them in or not. Oh, and angstchic, I don't think you have anything to worry about being the one who got smushed under Andy's arm. That honor would belong to me. Hey, but at least we have a picture of the two of us together.
The stars, of course, look great. I got my pic taken with James, Danny, and Andy, and though Danny is obviously sweaty in my pic with him, he still looks good. My favorite is the one with James, though. I know the man can take a bad picture---hell, I've seen them---but boy, this isn't one of them. Maybe I'll have just the James one scanned in. Though I look like a deer caught in headlights, it's not 100% awful; that way you all can appreciate how pretty the man is. I don't care. I actually kind of like the yellow t-shirt.
But back to the subject at hand. Motivation. I've been a little slack since we got back from Atlanta about food, getting takeaway far too much because of all the illness in the family, but that stops now. When there are so many things in my life I'm not satisfied with that I have no control over, it's ridiculous for me to relinquish what hold I have on this one thing and then complain about it. So no more. No more complaining. No more excuses. No more indulgences unless totally justified. I have no right to grouse about my weight if I'm not willing to do anything about it.
Funny what I find to motivate me. When I lost the 48 pounds last year, it was because of a picture I had taken early in my pregnancy with Alex. I looked like frickin' Buddha in it, and no, it wasn't because I was pregnant. I wasn't carrying him in my thighs. I'm nowhere near where I was weightwise in that picture, but I'm still far away from my target goal. But I can do it. I proved last year I can. And I will.