My will power is slipping and it isn't getting any better. I'm so good at home and on the weekends. I know what I can eat and what I can't and what I really shouldn't and, at home, I'm very, very good about it. My problem is work. Work is junk food central. This week, it's been cake for one of my co-workers' birthday which was Monday, with mini muffins, Starburst jelly beans, peanut M&M's, barbecue potato chips (I nearly made the "potatoE" gaff! Ack!), and double chocolate Hershey kisses. I'm only human and I'm getting complacent. 23 lbs and I'm acting like I've got it licked, like I have no more work to do and the rest of the weight will just keep coming off, so it's okay to have those jelly beans and a mini-muffin. It's okay to scarf down that piece of cake. I need help. Serious mental help! ARGH!

I can do this and I will do this! I just have to remember that I am a work of art in progress. Slow and steady wins the race. What other cliches can I throw in there? Magically everything works out for the best in the end. I think that's about it for now.

Okay, I just couldn't wear the dress for the work thing.

I have this fabulous silk, 50's style black with tiny taupe polkadots dress. I bought about six months ago because it was fabulous and silk and on sale and it was tax free week, and although it fit me very ill indeed, I just had to have it. Now that I've lost 23 lbs, it fits like a dream. My current connundrum is this, I have this fabulous dress and I was saving it for either dinner with the Boy, Easter Sunday, or some other spectacular reason to wear it. Tomorrow night I have a work function that frankly I don't even want to go to but I have to for solidarity and all of that rot and I was thinking I might wear it to that but, frankly, it just doesn't seem special enough and I have this horrible fear that I might spill something on it and ruin it, thereby ruining it for dinner with the Boy or Easter Sunday. But I don't really have anything else to wear as the Bank powers that be have deemed that we must wear black. What a pain. Good night all. Hopefully the solution will present itself in my dreams.

I'm doing better over the death of my beloved kittie. He's gone. The shock has depleted, but the guilt remains. It will be there for a long, long time. I keep thinking that I should have known, I should have done more, I should have taken him to the vet sooner, I should have, I should have, I should have... the list is endless. All of my friends keep telling me that I couldn't have known, that maybe he couldn't be saved, that maybe there was something more serious and that the outcome would have been the same. My mother thinks that his sinus infection had gone into the bone, I think perhaps it went systemic, but it's all the same- not much you could do, Ann. It doesn't make it any easier. I miss his little face, but what's really pissing me off the most is this stupid weather! It's so terribly cold and the ground is frozen, so I can't even bury him, yet, and it sickens me that my kittie, Jack, is in a box, in my garage, a frozen corpse because there's nothing else to be done yet. I can't put him to rest. It's upsetting me greatly.

On a far happier note, last night I spoke to Trisha and on the same day my cat died, March 9th, her new baby neice, Angelina Marie, came into the world. And that makes me very, very happy. She didn't want to tell me because I was so upset over Jack, but I'm glad that she did. I needed good news and that is certainly good news.

On a side note, why is it that the day that one looks less than one's best, is the day that the guy that one has a crush on comes intto the bank! Oh the humanity!

I had taken some pictures of my cat, Jack, which for some mysterious reason, won't attach to this post. I took them a couple of days ago with the intention of posting them so that everyone could see my lovely baby boy. He died this morning. Today, I am devasted in the shocking loss of my beloved kittie. Anyone who has pets knows what I'm going through and anyone who is as crazy about animals and cats, in particular, as I am will understand just how much I love that sweet little guy. He was sick, but I had no idea just how sick and when I was at the Vet's with him on Saturday, the vet didn't seem alarmed, just said give him his antibiotic, his eye drops and if he doesn't get better, bring him back. If he wasn't better by Friday, I was intending bringing him back. I went to bed at midnight last night, very late for me, and I was sitting in the chair with, just holding him and petting him, and although he didn't seen right, I just thought he was tired. I had no idea how tired. At five to one in the morning, his father, Rowan, began calling, and I yelled him and told him to stop. Now I know, he was trying to tell me that something was wrong with Jack, that Jack had died. I miss my little guy already. I miss his little face and his jiggly little butt when he would run down the stairs. I knew something was wrong, last night I just kept watching him breathe, but put I him down on the chair and went to bed. When I came down this morning at quarter to seven, I called his name and he when he didn't come, I went to look for him, and saw him dead on the floor, so terribly cold. I can't explain the dry, gut-wrenching sobs that came out of me as I just kept screaming over and over again, "NO! NO! NO!" and then sobbing hysterically, I called my brother, Geoffrey. I take back every bad thing I ever said about my brother, Geoff. And my parents are flying home today, so there's no way for me to warn them what happened until they are here. God, I miss him! My little man. My sweet, sweet Jack.