Where's My Stinkin' Wagon?

Not only do I feel like I've fallen off of the wagon, it seems as though my particular wagon backed up, ran over me, backed up again, ran over me again, & then took off like a runaway-pony-express-scene in an old Western. 

To the previous chocolate debacle, let's add a peanut butter epic & see how that helps the cause...& in case that's not enough, let's add some nachos & a margarita for good measure.  This week has been forsaken. 

At the beginning of the week, I was secretly worried that I had hit the dreaded plateau.  Ha ha!  A plateau seems highly unlikely at this point.  All signs point to me wracking up a tidy little gain on Saturday, and yet I still don't feel guilty.  I wonder when that becomes a problem.  I'm all for banishing self loathing, but perhaps a little baby loathe could be useful right about now.  Instead I feel oddly content & have placidly tracked every wayward bite.  I suppose that's something, but it would be more of a something if I could step away from the junk & chase down my wagon.  I've got to get back on before it rides off into my sunset without me.