I shouldn't be allowed to post things in public.

Hi. I'm Sandra Lina. I have no idea what the point of introducing myself is, as a few sentences in I just turn into a bumbling idiot and make a complete fool of myself and then anything I say just turns into a rambling run-on sentence. Or many fragmented ones. Because run-ons and fragments go together like apples and pizza. I should probably proofread, but what's the fun in that? So.

Life history in one word: Boring. Moving on.

I've lost weight before through lifestyle changes. You know how it goes -- eating healthier, cooking healthier, doing things healthier, smelling healthier, reading healthier; whatever I did, it was healthier, even if it was only healthier in my head. Except the one time I smoked a cigarette. And then the week or two I went to the bar every night to celebrating birthdays and promotions. And the pizza. Oh, man, the pizza.

Then, I got the bright idea to jump states with my parents. I found the idea of moving quite appealing when faced with the possibility of homelessness. Other people seem to think otherwise. I can't figure this out, but it has something to do with the fact that I was moving from California, Land of Awesome Things, to Missouri, Land of Something, But We're Not Sure What.

Now, when moving, you pack things up and take them with you. Some things you throw out. You'd think that lifestyle changes would be one of those precious things packed into a box and tossed into the back of the truck to make its happy way to Missouri, but no. It doesn't. It gets thrown out, probably to the curb, and maybe even gets picked up by some other well-meaning person who decides a change is necessary. Maybe it even finds a whole family, and they have warm, cozy Christmas dinners together. Regardless, the point is that it disappears. Personally, I think blackmail was involved. Never could say no to cookies.

This is what happens after you move and the lifestyle changes are bribed away by cookies: You nibble at chips at the new job in order to stay awake because you've gone from day shifts to night shifts. You saunter to the vending machine 4 out of 5 days of the week because you forgot your lunch and are too cheap to spend more than 85 cents on a "meal". Maybe you'll even spend $1.35 and toss in a can of soda. Not diet, of course, because when you're spending that much on a meal, you can't do diet. Oh, and don't forget; you're buying huge meals every payday because all the other ladies do it and it's yummy too. (No wonder you can't afford more than $1.35 for lunch, Sandra.)

Then, 2 years later, you've gained 25 pounds on top of the 10 pounds you temporarily gained during the move. Yes, we're talking about those pesky 10 pounds that moved in for a week and then never bothered moving out. Or paid rent. And now you're only 5 pounds from your last high weight. Ouch.

You know, it was so much easier to lose that 40 pounds a few years ago...

So. Now I'm here. I'm trying to eat better (maybe). I'm working on changing things around again. And it's surprisingly harder to bribe yourself out of those cookies with a tempting celery stick the second time around.

But you know what? So far, I think I'm right on track.

Well.

Maybe.

If any of you need advice, I'd gladly give you some. I just can't promise it to be relevant, much less helpful.