Not Sweating

I was going to gently massage today's results when I saw them this morning. I got on the scales, and they said
19 stone 11.5...mebbe...if you're really nice to me...
I grinned.
Don't take me for granted though, it sneered, changing up to 19 stone 12.
I stopped grinning, wheedled a little.
Nope, it said. Too late. You've pissed me off now. Not budging.

So - 19 stone 12 is the news that's fit to print today. Absolutely not progress, but far less catastrophic than I'd thought it would be.

I'm absolutely not sweating this small a bit of stuff, to be honest. It's one good fart away from plateauing.

The first...erm...bleed-in, for want of a better name, was positive - 5.9 - which on the UK scale is pretty good. Walked the same as yesterday, except, being payday, went out for dinner with d. I suppose, for a diabetic trying to lose weight, the choice of Moroccan cuisine was less than exactly smart. Fantastic food of course, but the only chicken pie I've ever eaten to be dusted with icing sugar.

Oddly enough, given my recent analism, I'm not sweating that either. I've got a week before the next weigh-in, and the meal wasn't a falling off, and it wasn't a proud rewarding. It was another moment of 'dog who doesn't know enough to come in out of the rain' stupidity. Got a week to turn stupidity into progress. I can do that. Just need to retain my focus is all.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to snore like a sugar-drunk.