About a year ago, I wrote about my resolution to lose some weight this year, crediting global warming as my motivation. I simply don’t wish to spend any more blazing Texas summers carrying all this additional poundage on my aging, weakening body. I know it’s weakening; just pick up a 50-pound bag of anything and carry it with you everywhere for over 30 years, and see if it doesn’t wear you down a bit.

Well, friends, at this point, I can report only marginal success, but I’ll take it over nothin’. Not due to any change in diet or exercise habits, mind you, but to a new medication I take to lower my A1C level, (ask a diabetic) that also serves as something of an appetite suppressant. So, yay, I’m still losing weight without having to really do anything.

After a recent doctor visit, though, the need to exercise and make a few dietary changes has come into sharper focus, and I find I have to be more of an active participant in the improvement of my health, or face some rather harsh consequences.

Rats. I kept hoping that, by now, we would be medically advanced enough to have a pill that, when taken, would just melt the pounds right off and, when taken regularly, would keep ‘em off. Guess I can’t depend on science for everything. Oh, well…

I just read a post from a fellow blogger whose work I enjoy, and it reminded me that, as this year draws to a close and a new one rapidly approaches, I have some other weight to work on losing, as well.

I don’t like to brag, but I hold a tenth-degree Black Belt in the discipline of not letting go of my past. No, really.

Every time I’ve screwed up, every reprimand I received, every time I was ridiculed and laughed at…oh, I have a trophy room full of them, folks.

Now, that…is some excess weight. Along with the 50-pound bag, I’m dragging a ship’s anchor. It’s a wonder I can even walk.

Before you go thinking this is some “poor, poor me”, Gloomy Gus soliloquy, trust me; I know where the blame lies. The universe didn’t do this to me.

Well, mostly not. It did see fit to bless me with the precious gift of depression, the gift that certainly keeps on giving. And that adds a degree of difficulty to my Olympic routine, judges.

I have been seeing a therapist this year, but any progress I feel I’ve made can easily be erased in a single bad situation that reminds me I’m still a long way from better, like the hopeful skier having one disastrous run on the slope.

It occurs to me, I’m at a physical and mental crossroad, and I can really no longer afford to f*** around with either. Not anymore.

I’ve learned many things this year, to be sure, from my therapy and from the wisdom of some insightful, inspirational bloggers.

But, you know, anybody can learn $#!t. What matters is what they do with it.

So, now begins the hard part of doing. It’s gonna be tough, but worth it, I hope. I’ll let you know how it goes. Wish me success.

Happy New Year, everybody. Please celebrate responsibly. Come back and see me next year.