My Body, Myself

All last week, besides trying to remember the password to this damn blog, I also kept coming up with blog entries about my body. Probably because I was going through that up and down, or should I say in and out (tummy) phase. Body image. Pooey. I heard someone say once that they wished they’d appreciated their body when they were younger. But my body was just as up, down and all around then too. It comes down to not my body, but my mind.  I’m fifty, it’s time to quit looking in the mirror and wishing for a flat stomach, time to quit grabbing my stomach roll and berating myself for the bread pudding I had last night. If I don’t like my body now, how am I ever going to like myself later when all those other gravity issues are really showing off their talent?  That’s not to say I’m going to start liking my body as of this moment.  And I doubt my behavior is going to change overnight, if ever, either.  But I think I might keep thinking about this blog entry instead of what I had for dinner.  Or dessert.  

Anybody else obsess about this stuff?

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