some days i feel like i've done so very little. like i'm so far behind. and then i find myself in a neighborhood food haunt. and i look to my right at a girlfriend so good and kind that i think many must spend the whole of their life in search of such a good friend. and i look to my left, out the window, at a neighborhood for which i still swoon each time i get off the subway--a neighborhood i so deliciously and fortuitously get to call home. and then i look at the menu before me. and as i peruse the items, deciding what i want, not once--not even once, i say!--does the thought of calories or fat or any such nonsense enter into the-what-to-eat-for-lunch-decison-making-process.
and all this happens with me in a pair of corduroy pants--that thing alone being a measure of much, much progress.
and all these things add up in such a way that i think well, hell, i'm surely chugging along. slower than some, but i'm just getting started.