When Will There Be Good News?
by Kate Atkinson
http://www.libraryjournal.com/article/CA6586262.html
The Little Giant of Aberdeen County
by Tiffany Baker
http://www.libraryjournal.com/article/CA6603020.html
The Book of Non-Electric Lighting
by Tim Madson
http://www.woodstockmagazineonline.com
by Kate Atkinson
http://www.libraryjournal.com/article/CA6586262.html
The Little Giant of Aberdeen County
by Tiffany Baker
http://www.libraryjournal.com/article/CA6603020.html
The Book of Non-Electric Lighting
by Tim Madson
http://www.woodstockmagazineonline.com
(Winter 2008/2009 issue)
And a short essay published in Here in Hanover, in the "Perspectives" section on the topic of resolutions:
The door to the Weight Watchers meeting is at the back of the building, hidden from the the road. I step from the darkness of the November night into to a bright set of rooms. To the left, an area with fold-out chairs lined up for a meeting. To the right, a check-in desk reminiscent of an airport with enough computers for three. In front of the desk (cue dire music): the scales. Down the center is a hallway, packed mostly with women queuing up to be weighed.
I run back to the bathroom at the back. I have to pee, and I don't want those ounces counted on my weigh in. As I stand in line, some people chat (some folks have been coming a long time and know each other well). Others, like me, try to ignore the fact that we are standing in line preparing to have our body sizes judged.
As I get closer, I can hear the discussions over the desk. No one but the workers can see the weights, but they say things like, "You lost a pound! Good job!!" and "You're higher than last week. Were you expecting that?"
The door to the Weight Watchers meeting is at the back of the building, hidden from the the road. I step from the darkness of the November night into to a bright set of rooms. To the left, an area with fold-out chairs lined up for a meeting. To the right, a check-in desk reminiscent of an airport with enough computers for three. In front of the desk (cue dire music): the scales. Down the center is a hallway, packed mostly with women queuing up to be weighed.
I run back to the bathroom at the back. I have to pee, and I don't want those ounces counted on my weigh in. As I stand in line, some people chat (some folks have been coming a long time and know each other well). Others, like me, try to ignore the fact that we are standing in line preparing to have our body sizes judged.
As I get closer, I can hear the discussions over the desk. No one but the workers can see the weights, but they say things like, "You lost a pound! Good job!!" and "You're higher than last week. Were you expecting that?"
My turn comes. I take off my shoes and my sweater. (I would have stripped naked if I weren't shy and worried about getting arrested.) I want more than anything to get that pat on the fat that says I'm down even an ounce. When I get the pronouncement, "You lost a half a pound. Good job!" I jump off the scale, grinning ear to ear, relieved that slip-up with that Hershey bar didn't break me.
I'm a bit embarrassed I need someone looking over my shoulder to manage weight loss, but there you have it. If my resolution is to eat carrots, I guess I need a stick to go along with them.
1 comment:
Hey, you are braver than I am. I'm not yet ready to try WW, but I suspect its coming. Great post my friend! Lisa
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