Dear Bread, Cheese, Beer and Wine:
I miss you. So much. But I can’t have you in my life at the moment. It’s not you. It’s me. (Well, it actually is you, but it’s my choice not to be with you.)
Dominic got some seasoned fries smothered in bright yellow nacho cheese sauce at the ballpark Sunday, and I had to go sit somewhere else.
An email promoting the annual Great Atlanta Beer Fest nearly moved me to tears.
Last night I dreamed about chicken nuggets.
Y’all, I don’t even eat chicken nuggets when I CAN eat chicken nuggets.
My “fat coach” told me the cravings would go away.
My “fat coach” lied.*
My “fat coach” and I are now on a break.
It’s a dark period. The equivalent of Goya’s “Black Paintings.”
I hope to see you in November. The scale will let me know.
Love you; miss you,
Beth
* That’s probably too harsh. I’m sure she really thought they would. We’re not really on a break. She’s giving me space. I really need nachos.
Observe and report 
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