The Faustus Factor

Blood was 5.8 today, my little Lestats.

Nothing much of great Disappearing interest today - went to hospital with my dad, seemed to go OK, waiting for results of his CT scan now. Ate two meals, and have just biked away 700 caloriesworth of them. Walked up to the folks' place, and discovered that, since I've plugged the bike back in, I'm well out of practice at the walking lark...which bodes well for September(!).

While biking, was chatting via text to Karen Pulley.
"Why is everything that tastes nice bad for you?" she asked.
"Because there really is a god, and he's still a little pissed about that whole 'Forbidden Fruit' thing?" I suggested.
"Hmm...Maybe. On the other hand, you could say that something like that was the Devil's work. Eating our souls to death and all that..." she mused.
"Mmm...Gluttony. One of the very best sins," I murmured, drifting for really rather a long moment into a cake-shop fantasy moment. It was like Fantasia, except instead of hippos and flamingos, there were Danishes and eclairs. It was looooooovely.

Then it hit me.
What would you give to achieve your version of perfection overnight? And to maintain it, effortlessly, in spite of your actions, for the rest of your life?

Of course 'perfection' is a very dodgy idea, and walking even half a mile in perfection's shoes will show you there's no such thing, but imagine someone from whom their own bodyweight was robbing the opportunities of life - we've probably all seen programmes on these people. Imagine if an opportunity were given to them to lose the weight in an instant - no effort, no exercise, no costly and painful surgery...and then they got the 'perfect' body, and the perfect metabolism, that allowed them to continue their eating habits while suffering none of the consequences. What would they...what would we I should say, because while not extreme enough to have a show made about me, my original weight was certinaly limiting my life-opportunities...what would we be prepared to give for that? To sacrifice for it?

I mention this merely because one of the items on my list of goals for achieving before the end of March is to enter every writing competition I can, and just as with the walking, if you let it go for a while, you get painfully rusty, so with the writing (outside of a novel the plot of which you already know, I mean). So I'd been staring at my competitions spreadsheet for a few days, willing my creative juices to get flowing.

I reckon there might be meat to this story (mmmm....meeeeaty.....juices...), so may well chain myself to the computer for the rest of the night and see what comes...I guess the question really is whether Fat is a Faustian Issue?