It's hard to write about pills without referencing Alanis Morissette's debut album

I finally like what I see in the mirror. My last bad haircut (have I ever had a good one?!) is growing out enough to be manageable again, and maybe a few weeks from styling it proper again. My face has shaped up to actually have a jawline and cheekbones. This blue and green striped V-neck t-shirt fits me pretty well, and it feels good to be able to wear something with confidence. These shorts are pretty comfortable and fit well – what's this in my pocket? Sudafed pills I had grabbed and pocketed so I could take some and rid myself of this clogged nose.

I guess pills only work if you take them. Thinking about taking them, planning on taking them, all exercises in futility without swallowing them.

August hasn't been kind to me, or rather; I haven't been kind to myself in August. After seeing an awesome low weight of 293 pounds, I'm back up to hovering around the 300 range. After keeping a relatively reliable running regiment, I've let weeks slip by without breaking a sweat. Dreaming about running my first 5k non-stop before my 30th birthday was a noble goal in May.

Unswallowed pills.

My good buddy Frank over at Kinked Slinky (kinkedslinky.blogspot.com) has issued the challenge: Come the end of September, we are running the Dave Ryan KDWB Special Olympics 5k in Minneapolis.

Suddenly my ass is in dire need of a fire lit under it.

If I had to state the moral of my story this year it would be that “nobody is responsible for your happiness but yourself” and I've done what I can to follow that, for the most part. I've managed to reach my first goal of weight loss; I've developed confidence that I previously thought improbable. Beyond that, though, I'm shy of accomplishments. And it's time to hold myself accountable, time to swallow a few more bitter pills.

I'm sure 6 weeks is enough to be able to walk/run the 5k. It might not be non-stop running and it might not be before my 30th, and I'm sure that that birthday won't pass without a bit of remorse. But a couple of weeks after that I'll be watching Frank leave me in the dust and then carrying on a conversation with the geriatric lady walking her labrapoodle at the back of the pack.

I hadn't set a new weight limit yet, and I suppose I probably should. 300 was a good first goal, and I wanted that because the Aeron computer chair I wanted to buy has a 12 year warranty but only for those less than 3 bills. I suppose now 275 should be an achievable goal, so let's set Christmas as my deadline.

I didn't get that awesome computer chair at 300 because it costs $700 and money has been extraordinarily tight of late. I can't blame anyone but myself, of course. I had gotten accustomed to the lavish lifestyle of mine when I had two roommates to help foot some of my mortgage. Now that I'm back to living by myself I'm reminded of just how important money management is. I didn't take a mortgage I couldn't afford by myself. Of course, major expenses arise. I'm putting off a new roof for another year because at first I intended to go to California by July to visit friends. Then a repair bill for my truck cost me my plane ticket and then some. Tack on a root canal (that totally could have been prevented with routine check-ups – see your dentist, kids!) last week and whatever funds I had are dwindled again.

As far as lighting a fire under my ass financially, I'm actually feeling good right now. I've paid for the root canal by selling 6 little pieces of cardboard (ever hear of Magic: the Gathering? It's a collectible card game I've played on and off for 19 years, and yeah, cards 17 years out of print but still heavily played are in high demand!). I even paid nearly half of my credit card bill this week, though I did so with the expectation of needing to charge to it again to get me through this next paycheck. I'm going to try to liquidate a few more belongings and climb out of the red (well, I'll still have my mortgage, my truck payment (until February!), and my student loans to pay off, but that’s all part of the American Dream™ isn’t it?).

If you've gotten this far, I want to make it clear that this isn't just some long-winded whining on my part. It's more of an open letter to my dear friends and my readership (which is pretty much one and the same) to invite you to give me a swift metaphorical kick in the ass when you see me. Keep me honest, nag like you're the stereotype of a bitchy girlfriend. I've enjoyed many encouraging compliments of late, and a definite increase of attention from the ladies (go on, brush yo' shoulder off), but like a junky addict, the same dosage just doesn't do it anymore, and I need more. I can't allow myself to become complacent, so I ask you to push me further.

I don't think it's selfish to ask this, either. I've had other folks surprise me by admitting that I inspire them as well, so really in doing what I ask here, you're not just helping me improve, but you're the pebble that hits the pond and ripples forth ever-expanding waves of motivation and inspiration. You might even inspire to push yourself beyond your comfort zone!

There's studies that show that talking about goals in life fulfill some sort of psychological reward and can actually be detrimental to your progress towards those goals. Saying you're going to run after work makes it less likely that you will. That's why when outlining my goals here, I ask for your help. Responsibility to my health and finances are just pills in my pocket, and just writing about them isn’t the same as swallowing them.These words alone can’t be rewarding to me when I expect you all to yell “Put down the beer, fatty!”

Let me revise that. “Put down the burger!” Because there’s no way I’m giving up my precious beer!