I need to stop indulging

At least, indulging in treat feast food, which has resulted in my weight skyrocketing up by three kilos from the heavier side of 94. In just as many days, I have managed to undo three months' worth of exercise and treat rationing.

I have to limit myself, once more, or see in the new year as a butterball.

I'm going to get down to the vicinity of 80 kilos, next year, if it takes me most of that time to do so.

Meanwhile, I have plenty of exercise potential in the laundry room and the kitchen sink. I'm going to nibble the mountain down on a daily basis. And if I keep ahead of the washing up, there's a high chance that I can keep the kitchen clean for the rest of next year.

Everyone laugh now. You'll save time.

I have to tackle this with the same bloody-minded determination that I tackled writing my first book, and every book thereafter. Set a goal, keep a goal. Every day for perpetuity.

I know it works, because I have a considerable volume of titles under my belt, now. [Someone purchased all my paid titles in one go, a few days ago. Thank you, random benefactor!] All I have to do is extend that spoon management to (ugh) physical activity.

Yeah, I'm a laugh riot today.

Onwards, ever onwards, into the grinding wheel of work that is never to be finished...