I am Defined by my Weight.

I mean, I must be, because I live and die by that scale every day. I consider myself passable or horribly unattractive based on that number. I think about it more than almost anything, including my own kid. I wish that it wasn't true, but it is.
Then, for the last holiday season, my old boss, Tami, got me this great Christmas present. It's a scale that doesn't show your weight! You get on it once, and it records your weight internally. After that, every time you get on the scale, it shows you only the number of what you've gained or lost. It's pretty cool, really. Check it out:

The day I got it, I went home, ate a substantial lunch, left my shoes and heavy watch and coat on, and weighed. I wanted it to record me at the heaviest I could possibly be that day, because I wanted to feel skinnier thereafter. Pretty messed up, huh? And to that end, it's worked. There was only one occasion since that it put me in the plus column, and wow, was that a bad day.
If I would just leave my other scale alone, we might be fine. But no, I'm such a slave to the scale that I have another one in my bathroom. The old-school kind, that shows you what you actually weigh. And when I don't think one is right, I refer to the other. Then I choose the one that was kinder to me that day. My husband always tells me he's throwing the scales away. He tells me that I will probably always weigh in the same 10-12 pound range and that I will always want to lose five pounds. He's right, of course. I don't dispute his logic. It doesn't mean I'm going to change.
I also religiously record what I eat to hold myself accountable. And as rigid as I am, as unyielding with weighing every single day and recording what I eat all the time, I still have a weight that is maintaining at five to seven pounds more than what I weighed two years ago. For some reason, I think that what I weighed two years ago should be what I weigh for the rest of my life. That was the weight I was at for a really long time. I can't think that aging and possibly slowing metabolism and not exercising as much as I should could possibly be causes of this weight gain. It's important to have goals, you know? And mine is to weigh that magic number. Yet week after week, I fail.
I could blame my thirteen or so boards on Pinterest that are devoted to food. I could blame the subreddits I subscribe to on Reddit (foodporn, baking, food) or the fact that I follow FoodPorn religiously on Twitter. I could blame the box in my closet full of Reese's peanut butter cups from Christmas.

But really what it comes down to is that I'm a creature of habit. I've been weight-obsessed since I was 13. I don't see it changing anytime soon.
Seriously, though, you should really check out Pinterest if you love food. It's a moderate addiction of mine. Occasionally, I'll even make some of the stuff, but for the most part I just stare at it while my husband is in the background telling me that he's going to throw that damn phone away and what am I always doing on it, anyway? *sigh* I just love food. And my scale.