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I seriously can't figure out my lack of motivation. Nor my lack of discipline. Nor my lack of genuinely good excuses.

For a few days a month, I get to use the legitimate if-I-don't-get-a-fucking-candy-bar-in-the-next-five-minutes-somebody's-gonna-die excuse to shove chocolate and fat down my piehole, but I don't even find myself using that one even when I can.

I used to force myself to come up with good excuses for my non-diet-non-exercise-iness, but those days seem to have ended. I no longer have to say "I worked out yesterday and you have to give your body time to heal itself in order for it to get stronger. Also, its getting dark out and as a single woman in LA, I know running in the dark by myself is probably not a great idea. Oh, and this one scoop of ice cream has like, all sorts of calcium in it--plus I've been eating well for five days."

Now? All it takes is a "Mmmm, those Famous Amos cookies look really good. Think I'll have a bag." Or "Yeah, I don't really feel like going for a run today. Think I'll lay here."

In a half-hearted attempt at being proactive, I went out and bought an exercise book that teaches you the correct form and repetition, et al for working out with dumbbells, and promises that for 30 minutes in 30 days, you'll be well on your way to the leanest, healthiest, sexiest body you've ever had.

The most I've lifted was the actual book when I got it home and said "I should start reading this right now... Think I'll take a nap."

So what is the matter with me?! I don't like the way I look. I know how to change it. And yet here I am, sitting on my ass, not doing shit.

Part of it for a while was the worry that I would go into heart failure while exercising. (Maybe the best excuse ever.) But I've gotten the green light from my cardiologist to exercise like normal.

Unfortunately, my normal exercise has become no exercise.

And the cookies just keep ooooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnn comin'.