Starving But Not Whipping

I'm hungry, but not enough to go downstairs and snack. At least, I hope not. I'm trying to lose weight to look better; to be healthier; to fit into my sexy old clothes. I like the clothes I bought last year in size 18, but I like better the ones I bought before, in size 14. The size 12s look pretty good too, but I'm trying not too put too much pressure on myself.
Because of lupus, I take prednisone, and because of prednisone (and menopause), I gained forty pounds. Between the extra weight and prednisone, I said hello to diabetes. It's not a problem, in fact for some insane reason, I like seeing what my blood glucose readings are twice a day. It's nuts, but I'm not crazy enough not to understand the dangers of diabetes. I've seen enough cut-off feet and legs to know. I take my medications religiously. Lupus has given me enough scares to have motivated me for a lifetime.
Lupus and prednisone brought me to retirement though I believed I wouldn't want to live anymore. It turns out the lack of a regular job, nobody giving me mindless reports, inspections, and data entry to do--is wonderful. No explaining, no worrying. I love doing whatever I want in my own time, whenever I want. I get up too late, that's true, and I'm short time to do everything I "require" of myself. But the house looks good to me; my plants are well-tended and my garden's cleaned up with a new tree planted; and gradually, the computer is pulling together. I've even begun to work on my website a tiny step at a time. Nobodies behind me with a whip.
And speaking of whips, I actually still haven't told the complete reality to a couple guys I really like, and I'm so not interested. Both are my models but all I want to do right now is whatever oozes from my brain onto the page. Except maybe my animals, or family. The scenes and classes are WORK, and I'm retired.