The time has come when a goal must be set. Otherwise, I might just continue this path of mediocrity for as long as the universe will let me. And so, I will set a goal for myself right here on this public forum - well, kind of public since no one has ever actually read it. I'm pretty tired of looking at myself in the mirror and being disgusted by what I see. The world's most supportive husband doesn't understand my frustration nor my extreme lack of self esteem, and I don't understand how he doesn't. I get the argument that I did have a baby three months ago, but I'm afraid of letting that excuse win in the long run.
Up to this point, I've often jumped into things with low expectations, expecting the worst in unknown situations so that I can be pleasantly surprised rather than disappointed. So here goes. Big sigh. My goal is to drop 10 el bees by Christmas. (Sidebar: this is purposely very do-able. See fear of failure above.) Phew. It's over. It's out there. I've said it. Now I just have to do it. And if this works, it might just be followed up with another. Who knows? This goal setting thing could lead to me finally organizing my closet. Nah. I won't get ahead of myself.