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It's me, MarkHiatt, checking-in at the invitation of Susan [[waves]].

I'm fat.

I weigh about 311 this morning, probably. Down a little bit but not nearly enough, yet. My wife, bless her, is also fat. Please don't take offense—you cannot let yourself get to the dark side of '300' without noticing that you're not portly, tubby, heavy or "Big-Boned". We're FAT. We're very nearly "Fat, Damnit!" But we're cute together ( ).

My wife, whom I discovered a couple of months ago I love more than Life itself, recently underwent a pretty major medical procedure. For a week or so, there, we were absolutely convinced she had ovarian cancer. That turned out not to be the case, which means I could end the year jobless and homeless and in a ditch somewhere, bloody and on fire, and still count this among My Best Years. But her doctor told her she needed to lose weight and it really, finally, hit home. He recommended that she go on South Beach, which as Jules Winnfield would say pretty much means that I'm on South Beach, too.

We didn't get this way overnight. We didn't get this way because someone else made us do it. We got this way because of our own choices and habits and now we have to learn new ones. And so, the journey begins.

But I could seriously hurt someone this morning, for some bread.
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