Books by Cynth'ya Lewis Reed

Last July's newsletter, if you recall, was the second part of a "bare all" kind of testimonial. Besides, it's cheaper than traditional therapy.

But first forgive me for missing posting this last-day-of-the-month newsletter on the first day of September. The reasons are mostly political, such as the decency of preaching and booing at the latest national political convention. But I ain't tryin' to hate, as I've tried to represent in one of my "street-talk" poems (see "don' hate playa, don' hate). Before I express my opinion on anything, I have to first ask myself, "what will be the benefits, and what will be the consequences of my actions?"

Well, back to where we left off in July, with the letters N-Z as pertaining to ways to deal with handling the beast of emotional eating. So aside from the fact that President Bush's namesake, George P. Bush is a good looking Hispanic man who is more articulate than his uncle, with or without a teleprompter), I'm going to go on and finish this newsletter anyway.

Picking up from the infamous letter "M" in the July's mini-mag, in a slightly different format:

(N)ote the fact that lettuce and other organic accessories to the salad bowl have become replacements for (O)reos;

(P)izza is still a treat, but now I stop at the fourth slice instead of the seventh, leaving one left over for breakfast (which is the most important meal of the day, according to Regis and Kathy Lee,--oh shoot, I meant "Kelly");

(Q)uiet time in one's day (a.k.a., the kids are FINALLY GONE!!!) is complimentary to one not being tempted to eat things that make the booty bigger (unless you're J-lo. . . I know, "don' hate)

(R)equire lots and lots of filtered water (see Jus' Plain Nasty" in my "News" area. Research in medicine says one ounces per every two pounds of body weight. After all, water since it is the stuff that fat is flushed by. . . not to mention the increased flushing of toilets);

(S)top being negative about things that trigger my overeating like, well. . . I promised not to be political, but Oh SugarPops!, if I see one more black female attending the Republican Convention who is too ashamed to wear her hair nappy who'd rather wear a cowboy hat and go "yeah-HOO" . . .(I know I know, don' hate) check 'em out. . . ain't one sistah at the convention goin' for the Angie Stone or Jill Scott "nappy & happy" look, but that's personal (the sellouts);

(T)aters [i.e. potatoes] ain't on the menu while losing weight; not fried, not boiled not baked, buttered, nor broasted. Unless it's a dance called the Mashed Potatoes, it's deleted from my daily plan. (For those of you who don't remember that dance, ask a retired Arthur Murray instructor;

(U)nderstand that all of the exercise is paying off, especially when it comes to squats -- which can become very helpful in both the bathroom and the bedroom;

(V)olunteering at the local monopoly (whoops, meant to say "hospital") in pastoral care helps me to feed my emotional need to feel needed. Going from room to room, talk to patients and their families, finding out who got shot over what and why, and leaving a brochure about 24 hour clergy care while trying to politely escape people who mistake me for an aid and want me to empty their bedpans. Plus, since lists are confidential, carrying that little clipboard around and walking up 10 flights of stairs instead of taking the contaminated visitor's elevators ("cough cough hack hack spew") helps a little bit with the muscles that help with those squats in the previous entry;

(W)orking out on my son's elliptical machine that was too heavy for him to move up three flights of stairs to his new apartment, (which allowed me to have more letter "Q" time) helps me not feel so guilty about eating pizza, especially when sweating makes me feel "sooooo dirty!" Then, I (W)ash up and run around the house naked, admiring myself for who I am. That would be an imperfect woman who feels good about herself, and can fix everything else with a good foundation garment.

(X)cuses I've found are a little harder to come by, since the scales do not lie when they say I lost five more pounds in the month of August; (Yeahhhhhh, think I'll eat that pizza I was saving for breakfast as a victory treat);

(Y)esterdays trials and errors have taught me a lot about myself, and one of the best ways to appreciate it are knowing that while losing weight, I don't have to be perfect, and it's fine to reset the goal as often as I need to do so;

(Z)ero in on taking one day at a time, realizing that life does not last forever, and that as long as I live and think to be my best, I just MIGHT be able to inspire somebody else. So, I'm zeroing in on losing four pounds each month, now thru the end of March 2005 when I will do quarterly updates. (Hey, if not for you all holding me accountable, expecting progress, I'd be eating a hamhock watching Court TV. . .and that would be a lot more exciting that the latest televised political convention.)

So, regardless of your party, weight gain should never be a party to ruining one's future.

blessin's, and thanks for the honor of airing my weirdness in "TWIRP" (This Writer is Really Peculiar) newsletter for, well, let's pretend it was August 31st!

love y'all,
cynth'ya