On my way home, I had a huge urge to gorge myself on salty deep fried food. I felt quite virtuous therefor when I settled for a small fries from MacDonald's. I got home and drank about a gallon of apple juice. I was in hospital last year and several doctors remarked to me that I would have to lose weight. They would say this as I lay there expecting a heart attack at any moment and I promised myself that , if I survived, I would exercise regularly and eat less. I weighed 264 pounds. When I was younger, I mean twenty years ago, I weighed about 180. I was determined, lying there being very brave and philosophical about possible imminent death, that I would first get to 220 and then gradually back to 200. I'd read somewhere that it was not good to lose weight fast. So I didn't. Still, this is a year later and I've only lost fourteen pounds. I joined an exercise club, but I don't go very often. I'm a lazy slob and likely to die younger for it, but I am enjoying my life this way far too much to stop.