July 1, 2:15 a.m.

Nearly a week into my summer break. So far, all my best laid plans have yet to be, well, laid out. Typical Bernice behavior setting in. It's either planning to do something, but never doing it or worse, starting something but never finishing it. It could be cross-stitching, Mrs. Dalloway, organizing my dad's newspapers, studying my online lessons, or cleaning up the junk that's mutating to gigantic proportions in the corner of our bedroom. I do nothing and nothing gets done. Then I hate myself for the wasted time, the wasted opportunity. I feel miserable for a few hours, and then, like Nemo's friend, Dory, everything slides off my memory into oblivion.

Currently, my other option to doing nothing is watching The Real Housewives of New York City online. Jill's outspoken Jewish mother, Gloria, was giving advice to Bethenny. At first, it all sounded typical: you have to take care of yourself, let go of the past, etc. But then she said something along the lines of "life is just a minute, and then a second. I turn around and it's Passover, I turn around again, it's Yom Kippur. "

Her words struck me because it's the same for me. I don't remember months or years. I just remember the moments, crystal clear--Christmas, dinner at Cibo with Mich and Chris, lunch at the beach with my cousins and the smell of Coppertone lotion, living in Ilang-Ilang dorm, walking around UP. Sometimes, I still can't believe how fast time went by because I can still vividly remember being 18, or 20, in my first job.

Life is just a minute. Time flies. Twenty-six years have passed and I am still the girl resolving to lose weight. I am still waiting for the day to come when everything will be convenient, and I will lose weight straightaway. I am still waiting for the gym membership, the a-ha moment, the mirror image, the stinging insult that will push me to finally make the effort to lose weight.

How long will I wait and make excuses? When another 10 years have passed? When I am too old to surf, scuba dive, climb the hills of a Medieval town, or shop at Zara? I am 26 and I am still making excuses. I am 26 and I have never really finished something I started. I am 26 and I am still waiting for the day to come that I will finally do something when it is really up to me to start that day. It's like that morbid joke about the construction worker who couldn't take another day of the same packed lunch and killed himself, only for all to find out later from his grieving wife that it was HIM who packed his own lunch.

I know what to do. I just have not gotten off my big fat butt to do it. But today, I WILL get off my big fat butt. I don't know about tomorrow. But today, I will. Today is my day. Today is Day 1.