(That was an homage to my late cousin Cary, who died in a train wreck nearly nine years ago, still in his 20's - just a month after our grandmother died. It was one of his favorite sayings.)
I'm terrified, y'all.
Terrified to go to weigh in.
Oh, I've learned so much this week - like that I eat way too fast, and that I feel so much better without all those processed foods.
And also, that plain yogurt with blackberries can be a good stand-in when your husband sends you to Sonic to fetch him some ice cream.
I know I've done well. At least, I think I've done well. I've learned to prioritize my treats, because I only get so many of those flex points per week.
I've also decided that, no matter what the scale says when I weigh in in a mere two hours, I'm not giving up. I'm giving myself more than just a week to learn this new program, more than just a week for my body to adjust to this change.
Weight Watchers Scale of Destiny, here I come.