Right - well here I am, in the bosom of my family, for tonight, tomorrow and most of Boxing Day (day after Christmas for my US-friends).
"Right," said Ma the minute our asses were over the threshold, "now it;'s Christmas - no dieting till Boxing Day."
To be fair, I hadn't exactly been strictly observant before arriving with her - I'd had a sausage and scrambled egg baguette for breakfast - yes, for breakfast, shaduuup - followed by a large bowl of bran flakes for lunch - oh yeah, I'm just that topsy-turvy, upside-downy kind of guy, alright, deal.
No exercise of any kind today - much ass-sitting, much editing, a little bit of movie-watching with Ma (I seem to have a knack - whenever I recommend a movie, she ends up liking it less having watched it than she thought she did before she watched). Had a Waitrose ready meal - some sort of cajun chicken linguine...thing, which is what happens when fusion food goes bad. Have also, throughout the course of the evening had a plate of cheese and crackers (always useful when you're taking pills that make you shit out a third of the fat you take in as a horrid, unmanagable oily orange mess), some 'florentines' - which seem to be what happens when nuts and chocolate love each other very much - and a single two-stick weakeness fo Kit Kat. So, probably, as Bridget Jones would say, V V Bad.
Tomorrow's Christmas, dammit. Next week - 2015. Let's see if we can damn well get this right then, shall we?
Happy holidays, Disappearers and Friends-of-Disappearing!
Wednesday 24 December 2014
Tuesday 23 December 2014
The Baby-Step Failure
Humph.
All the biking, all the walking, all the goody-two-shoeing, and today's weigh-in shows me up a pound:
18st 12.25.
Of course, I say goody-two-shoeing, but it's important to remember the chocolate sharing plate of yummy doom and the like. so I'm not about to go on a chocolate bender. it is what it is. My friend Sarah put it well a couple of days ago on Facebook - "I'm waiting till the new year," she said. "That gives me 365 days to lose."
I like that perspective. So, yes - that. I can't throw up my arms and say "Sod it, it's Christmas, or what control there is in my life right now will go completely to pot over the Christmas break. But the idea of starting with 365 days is appealing. After all, let's remember, I lost six stone (84 pounds) in the space of 365 days a couple of years ago. I aimed to start January from a position just below 18 stone. Clearly that's not now going to happen. If I can start the year from a position just under 19 stone, and do anything like the same again, I'll actually be in a position a stone and a half better than I've been at any point in the Disappearing. So - thinking positively, I'm still below the 19 stone mark. Let's take that forward and run with it.
All the biking, all the walking, all the goody-two-shoeing, and today's weigh-in shows me up a pound:
18st 12.25.
Of course, I say goody-two-shoeing, but it's important to remember the chocolate sharing plate of yummy doom and the like. so I'm not about to go on a chocolate bender. it is what it is. My friend Sarah put it well a couple of days ago on Facebook - "I'm waiting till the new year," she said. "That gives me 365 days to lose."
I like that perspective. So, yes - that. I can't throw up my arms and say "Sod it, it's Christmas, or what control there is in my life right now will go completely to pot over the Christmas break. But the idea of starting with 365 days is appealing. After all, let's remember, I lost six stone (84 pounds) in the space of 365 days a couple of years ago. I aimed to start January from a position just below 18 stone. Clearly that's not now going to happen. If I can start the year from a position just under 19 stone, and do anything like the same again, I'll actually be in a position a stone and a half better than I've been at any point in the Disappearing. So - thinking positively, I'm still below the 19 stone mark. Let's take that forward and run with it.
Monday 22 December 2014
The OHIO Principle and the Pinball
Another day, another bunch of just little things that turned into big things. Taking a grocery delivery turned into me sitting on my ass for a couple of hours having breakfast (not for two hours) and watching Masterchef Australia. A quick trip to the doctors to drop in a blood test form turned into a couple of hours of shopping for all the stuff we didn't get delivered. Then when I finally got back in front of my computer, I couldn't keep my eyes open. What the hell's up with that, I don't know - probably too much cereal for breakfast, eventually kicking my ass or somesuch, in that special diabetic way it has.
Result - 8 pm, massively behind on deadlines all over the shop, still no thought yet of tonight's biking.
If I could just finish one thing, it would feel like progress, but there seems to be little prospect of that happening. But instead of applying the OHIO Principle - Only Handle It Once (meaning just do one thing at a time, and see it through), I seem to be bouncing from project to project with neither rhyme, nor reason, nor any useful marker of progress, like some demented pinball that just wants to sleep. I'm obviously tempted to do a Starbucks day tomorrow, as I tend to crank out the work when I go there. But can I really afford to do it so close to Christmas and so far from my next payday?
Unff - we'll see. One thing at a time. Blog done. Next!
Result - 8 pm, massively behind on deadlines all over the shop, still no thought yet of tonight's biking.
If I could just finish one thing, it would feel like progress, but there seems to be little prospect of that happening. But instead of applying the OHIO Principle - Only Handle It Once (meaning just do one thing at a time, and see it through), I seem to be bouncing from project to project with neither rhyme, nor reason, nor any useful marker of progress, like some demented pinball that just wants to sleep. I'm obviously tempted to do a Starbucks day tomorrow, as I tend to crank out the work when I go there. But can I really afford to do it so close to Christmas and so far from my next payday?
Unff - we'll see. One thing at a time. Blog done. Next!
Sunday 21 December 2014
The Walking Substitute?
When is a word not a word?
Arguably, when it's not the word you mean - when it doesn't do the job you want it to do. I started this week saying I'd bike every day. And so far I have. But not, so far, today. Today, I've walked. Today's the 29th anniversary of my mum and dad's wedding, so stuck with Ma for a few hours, and some of them were spent walking. Will have walked over 11,000 steps by the end of tonight when I go and pick d up from work.
But as yet, with about 45 minutes left to go before I have to go and collect d, and draw a line under my day, I haven't "biked". I've done the equivalent of what the biking is supposed to achieve, but not biked.
I've technically raised it with neither of them, but both d and Ma know the way my mind works to such an extent that they've both told me "the walking can take the place of the biking for the day, and you can get on with stuff".
But can you though, if you've promised to bike. Can you just bodyswerve the activity and plead 'the dog ate my wording'? Is something that takes the place of an action equivalent to an action? If you say "I'm going to run a marathon for charity" and then, instead, you run two half-marathons, have you done what you said you'd do?
I suspect much of the world thinks you have - I know people who are judged to have gone "round the world", when what they've actually done is go halfway round the world, and then come back. Also, I know a pal of mine is doing a big swim for charity, and has been told that she can actually continue adding lengths to her total beyond the original time limit of it, because the activity's the thing that counts.
I'm not sure my brain works like that. (Shrugs) Ultimately, it probably just comes down to how anal you are about words.
I run an editing house. Any guesses as to how anal I am about words?
Right. Fine. See how y'are, you talkative bastards. This will be me then, getting off the computer and getting on the bike, with just 38 minutes to spare. Buggerrit. Buggerit. Damn and blast and buggerit. See you tomorrow.
Arguably, when it's not the word you mean - when it doesn't do the job you want it to do. I started this week saying I'd bike every day. And so far I have. But not, so far, today. Today, I've walked. Today's the 29th anniversary of my mum and dad's wedding, so stuck with Ma for a few hours, and some of them were spent walking. Will have walked over 11,000 steps by the end of tonight when I go and pick d up from work.
But as yet, with about 45 minutes left to go before I have to go and collect d, and draw a line under my day, I haven't "biked". I've done the equivalent of what the biking is supposed to achieve, but not biked.
I've technically raised it with neither of them, but both d and Ma know the way my mind works to such an extent that they've both told me "the walking can take the place of the biking for the day, and you can get on with stuff".
But can you though, if you've promised to bike. Can you just bodyswerve the activity and plead 'the dog ate my wording'? Is something that takes the place of an action equivalent to an action? If you say "I'm going to run a marathon for charity" and then, instead, you run two half-marathons, have you done what you said you'd do?
I suspect much of the world thinks you have - I know people who are judged to have gone "round the world", when what they've actually done is go halfway round the world, and then come back. Also, I know a pal of mine is doing a big swim for charity, and has been told that she can actually continue adding lengths to her total beyond the original time limit of it, because the activity's the thing that counts.
I'm not sure my brain works like that. (Shrugs) Ultimately, it probably just comes down to how anal you are about words.
I run an editing house. Any guesses as to how anal I am about words?
Right. Fine. See how y'are, you talkative bastards. This will be me then, getting off the computer and getting on the bike, with just 38 minutes to spare. Buggerrit. Buggerit. Damn and blast and buggerit. See you tomorrow.
Saturday 20 December 2014
The Sharing Platter Heel
See that Achilles?
See that Achilles Heel?
I've got one of those. Only it's not technically in my heel. And of course, my name's not Achilles. Can you imagine any kid growing up in the 70s and 80s South Wales Valleys being saddled with a name like Achilles? Poor bastard would barely have made it out of nappies before being killed.
But I digress.
See, my weakness, my overriding, all-bets-are-off heel of doom is the idea that my reticence might stop other people having the good time they want to have. Which clearly means sharing platters are sent straight from the Devil to fuck with my life.
Another day, another editfest today. Got quite a lot done, and realised a delightful thing - thought I had a deadline of Christmas day for two edits which I'm doing concurrently, but actually the deadline's 29th, so that's five more days built into the schedule - hoorah. But went down to Cardiff Starbucks to crack on, only to discover that d was on the next train behind me, with payday cash in her bank account and lunch on her mind.
Had a very carb-heavy lunch, has to be said - chilli almonds to amuse the bouche, doughballs to start with and a bit of a disappointing bog-standard bolognaise for main. Then the dessert menu appeared, as if by magic, at our table.
There was a chocolate sharing platter.
I shared it. I couldn't not - I am many things, but strong enough to resist both chocolate and the idea that my wife won't have what she wants? Nnnnotsomuch. Bottom line, it was...ok.
A couple of chocolate-heavy beverages also wormed their way into my afternoon schedule, as the rails buckled somewhat under my endeavours.
But now, here I am. The blog's done, and I'm about to jump on the exercise bike, because let there be no mistake - there's no hypocrite like a Disappearing hypocrite. Tomorrow, as Scarlett O'Hara was wont to say, is another day, and dammit, it's a stay-at-home, bike-your-ass-off day. There - Achilles has spoken.
(Buggers off to put his heels to work on the bike...)
See that Achilles Heel?
I've got one of those. Only it's not technically in my heel. And of course, my name's not Achilles. Can you imagine any kid growing up in the 70s and 80s South Wales Valleys being saddled with a name like Achilles? Poor bastard would barely have made it out of nappies before being killed.
But I digress.
See, my weakness, my overriding, all-bets-are-off heel of doom is the idea that my reticence might stop other people having the good time they want to have. Which clearly means sharing platters are sent straight from the Devil to fuck with my life.
Another day, another editfest today. Got quite a lot done, and realised a delightful thing - thought I had a deadline of Christmas day for two edits which I'm doing concurrently, but actually the deadline's 29th, so that's five more days built into the schedule - hoorah. But went down to Cardiff Starbucks to crack on, only to discover that d was on the next train behind me, with payday cash in her bank account and lunch on her mind.
Had a very carb-heavy lunch, has to be said - chilli almonds to amuse the bouche, doughballs to start with and a bit of a disappointing bog-standard bolognaise for main. Then the dessert menu appeared, as if by magic, at our table.
There was a chocolate sharing platter.
I shared it. I couldn't not - I am many things, but strong enough to resist both chocolate and the idea that my wife won't have what she wants? Nnnnotsomuch. Bottom line, it was...ok.
A couple of chocolate-heavy beverages also wormed their way into my afternoon schedule, as the rails buckled somewhat under my endeavours.
But now, here I am. The blog's done, and I'm about to jump on the exercise bike, because let there be no mistake - there's no hypocrite like a Disappearing hypocrite. Tomorrow, as Scarlett O'Hara was wont to say, is another day, and dammit, it's a stay-at-home, bike-your-ass-off day. There - Achilles has spoken.
(Buggers off to put his heels to work on the bike...)
Friday 19 December 2014
The Thief of Time
OK, nobody move!
Now which one o' you dirty, low down sons a' bitches stole nine goddamned hours from me?
Lemuel, lock the door. Ain't no-one gettin' out till I get my time back right here where it belongs.
I walked into this day once my honey left with nine freshly-minted hours, ordered myself a decaff Coasta latte, and now look, barely seconds left. So c'mon, which one of ya took 'em?
Won't be no hollerin' or consequences, I'll just shootcha quietly through the head and we'll say no more about it.
I ain't yet done my daily peregrinations on that there static velocipede, and I had them nine hours clearly marked for my own personal uses, which was to include some time a-pedallin' on that confounded machine.
Now, cos o' one o' you mangy dogs, I gotta but into my canoodlin' time with my good lady when she gets her hide in through the door to go a-peddlin'.
(whispers off-stage)
Whadday mean, ma own Mama done it? Not ma sweet old Mama? Well confound it all, whatcha all lookin' at? Ain'tcha never seen a feller spend a day runnin' round after his kin before? Go on now, there's nothin' to see here, 'ceptin' a plum stupid critter pedallin' his hind off.
Now which one o' you dirty, low down sons a' bitches stole nine goddamned hours from me?
Lemuel, lock the door. Ain't no-one gettin' out till I get my time back right here where it belongs.
I walked into this day once my honey left with nine freshly-minted hours, ordered myself a decaff Coasta latte, and now look, barely seconds left. So c'mon, which one of ya took 'em?
Won't be no hollerin' or consequences, I'll just shootcha quietly through the head and we'll say no more about it.
I ain't yet done my daily peregrinations on that there static velocipede, and I had them nine hours clearly marked for my own personal uses, which was to include some time a-pedallin' on that confounded machine.
Now, cos o' one o' you mangy dogs, I gotta but into my canoodlin' time with my good lady when she gets her hide in through the door to go a-peddlin'.
(whispers off-stage)
Whadday mean, ma own Mama done it? Not ma sweet old Mama? Well confound it all, whatcha all lookin' at? Ain'tcha never seen a feller spend a day runnin' round after his kin before? Go on now, there's nothin' to see here, 'ceptin' a plum stupid critter pedallin' his hind off.
Thursday 18 December 2014
The Deadline Extremity
‘I love deadlines. I love the sound they
make as they go by.’
Words of wisdom from the man who, if I have
an idol, is it, Douglas Adams. Today was deadline day, so I crept out of bed at
just gone seven, and bogged off to my Starbucks to work my ass off. As I write
this, it’s nearly 8.30 at night – 13 hours later, and I’ve just about finished
for the day. In the interests of full disclosure, I should say, I took an hour
off for a rather extravagant lunch with d, who came down to Cardiff herself
after doing the sensible, day-off thing and catching some more sleep after waving
my ass out of the door. The extravagant lunch was a la Francaise – guinea hen,
no less, and a slightly odd potato soup that tasted of nothing – French cuisine,
Welsh style.
Have yet to bike, but that’s next on my
list of stuff to do. Once I’ve sent a couple of emails. And posted this online.
And oh yeah, loaded up a couple of links to my writing website. And finally write some Christmas cards. And find a Parcel Force card so I can hopefully claim a parcel that hopefully hasn't been sent back to fuck-knows-where, even though it was a while ago it arrived, and...oh gods, I hate deadlines.
Wednesday 17 December 2014
The Forgetfulness Factor
Crap! It's 11.11 and I haven't blogged yet. Frankly, forgot all about it till now. Biked earlier, thankfully or there'd be no way of sticking to my "blog and bike each day this week" rule.
Did a bit of a stupid thing this morning - weighed in again. Thankfully, turned out to be a morale-booster - yeah, I know, tragic, really, that a 43-year-old 21st century man should have the self-esteem of a Jane Austen heroine, able to be shattered by the wrong numbers! Thankfully, was able to avoid a fit of the vapours, as the numbers were kind (and besides, really don't have time for the vapours right now).
Worked pretty solidly all day - with a cereal breakfast, a toast lunch and a mac and cheese dinner that was probably ill-advised. Biked for 45 minutes though, and it's aMAZING how self-righteous one can feel from doing what is actually so little physical exercise.
Tomorrow - Starbucks, ho! - for what the Australians deliciously describe as a 'head down, bum up' session, trying with increasing desperation to convince myself I can do all the things I need to do in the time I have left in which to do them (yes, I promise you, that sentence makes sense).
Still about three fairly major things to do before I can get off this machine and go fit in some snoring. but as yet - Wednesday's done, and I'm on target to tick off the whole bike-blog double on Monday.
Onwards!
Did a bit of a stupid thing this morning - weighed in again. Thankfully, turned out to be a morale-booster - yeah, I know, tragic, really, that a 43-year-old 21st century man should have the self-esteem of a Jane Austen heroine, able to be shattered by the wrong numbers! Thankfully, was able to avoid a fit of the vapours, as the numbers were kind (and besides, really don't have time for the vapours right now).
Worked pretty solidly all day - with a cereal breakfast, a toast lunch and a mac and cheese dinner that was probably ill-advised. Biked for 45 minutes though, and it's aMAZING how self-righteous one can feel from doing what is actually so little physical exercise.
Tomorrow - Starbucks, ho! - for what the Australians deliciously describe as a 'head down, bum up' session, trying with increasing desperation to convince myself I can do all the things I need to do in the time I have left in which to do them (yes, I promise you, that sentence makes sense).
Still about three fairly major things to do before I can get off this machine and go fit in some snoring. but as yet - Wednesday's done, and I'm on target to tick off the whole bike-blog double on Monday.
Onwards!
Tuesday 16 December 2014
The Chemical Edge
Alrighty - well that's at least moderately positive. Weigh-in this morning is back the right side of 19 - 18st 12.25. This is pre-bike, pre-bathroom, but as the day draws on to its mid-point, I'm pretty much gonna have to consider it the official number I guess.
Of course it's not good good, but it's better than last week, when I went up four pounds. Down nearly three will do me for now, and might well help reinforce the discipline - blog every day, bike every day. This is fast becoming the week from hell, workwise, but if I can just remember to carve a little bit of time out for the biking, and no time at all out for the fish and chips or the chocolate brownies, then it's got to be going in the right direction, no?
Went to the optician this morning as I've started doing that middle-aged thing of taking off my glasses to read close text. Unff - over 200 quid out of January's pay packet that I could do without spending, but the eyes are the principle tools of my trade, so I suppose I can't get away with skimping on them. The good thing is there's no evidence of new retinopathic damage - diabetic damage, to the newbies - so it's not a case of my sugar control or weight bursting blood vessels in my eyes. Not new ones, anyway, which is always something to be thankful for.
So on we go. Had quite a large cereal breakfast this morning, but now feel powered up to go quite a few more hours. There will be biking. At some point. And if, by some miracle of application and restraint, aided by the chemical cheat mode of the Xenical, next week I can be another couple of pounds lighter, all to the good.
Of course it's not good good, but it's better than last week, when I went up four pounds. Down nearly three will do me for now, and might well help reinforce the discipline - blog every day, bike every day. This is fast becoming the week from hell, workwise, but if I can just remember to carve a little bit of time out for the biking, and no time at all out for the fish and chips or the chocolate brownies, then it's got to be going in the right direction, no?
Went to the optician this morning as I've started doing that middle-aged thing of taking off my glasses to read close text. Unff - over 200 quid out of January's pay packet that I could do without spending, but the eyes are the principle tools of my trade, so I suppose I can't get away with skimping on them. The good thing is there's no evidence of new retinopathic damage - diabetic damage, to the newbies - so it's not a case of my sugar control or weight bursting blood vessels in my eyes. Not new ones, anyway, which is always something to be thankful for.
So on we go. Had quite a large cereal breakfast this morning, but now feel powered up to go quite a few more hours. There will be biking. At some point. And if, by some miracle of application and restraint, aided by the chemical cheat mode of the Xenical, next week I can be another couple of pounds lighter, all to the good.
Monday 15 December 2014
The Monday Double Groin-Kick
Some days, every single thing about the day
seems designed to kick you in the crotch and spit on your ludicrous attempts to
self-determine. These are what we call Mondays.
To be fair, I should have known it was
going to be that sort of day. Firstly, I own a calendar, and the Mondays are
clearly marked, so I knew it was coming. But secondly, I’d actually put some
plans into my To Do List. Proper plans, plans that included timings. “Bike
every day this week”, for instance. “Blog every day this week” for a second,
rather more predictable instance. Biking every day rather depended on biking
today, and I’d subliminally intended the universe to understand in no uncertain
terms when I wrote that in my list that I meant “before work”.
Needless to say, when I woke up at 8.45,
that was shot to hell in an instant.
On the upside, day-job procedure, which
normally has me chained to a Skype-chat for some indeterminate hour on a Monday
morning, skipped a beat this morning, allowing me to take advantage of d’s
particular groin-kick today, which was that while she was initially scheduled
to be in work for just the afternoon shift, her rota’d been changed to do a
second 11 hour shift on the run. Two wrongs may not make a right, but two
groin-kicks, as it turns out, makes a day in Starbucks. Which was just as well,
because this week is going to be unremittingly, brain-poundingly long and full
and generally shite. As I write this, it’s 6.30 at night and I’m on a train
home from Cardiff like a moderately over-dedicated commuter, so at least I can
tick off “blogged today”. I’m still hoping to be able to start the week off as
I’d intended and bike when I get in. Daresay my best chance is immediately once
I get through the door, so I’ll sign off now. Have a look a couple of lines
down to see what happened next…
Ugh. Yep. Biked, though only for the space
of about 300 calories, in addition to about 400 calories of walking done today.
Overall, that feels more reasonable than I’d hoped for, and allows me to hope
for better things tomorrow and for the rest of the week. Don’t know what the
morning’s weigh-in will hold, to be honest. Not imagining anything
extravagantly good. Have actually caught myself in mirrors quite a bit
recently, and the odd photo, and am back to actively disliking what I see
there. Hence, I suppose, this idea of biking every day and blogging every day.
Have a sense of being lost and drowning, clinging on to any scrap of routine I
can enforce upon myself. So let’s see if I can at least tick off those two
things at the end of next week, and then see where we go from there.
Tuesday 9 December 2014
The Standard Equivocation
So - today's weigh-in was nowhere near as bad as I'd expected, but nowhere near good either.
The numbers today, pre-biking, say 19st 1. That's nowhere near as bad as the 19st 7 I was predicting, but of course, it's still up by about 5 lb in the space of a week.
Now, a continuation of last week's stupidity - when I saw that this morning, my instinctive reaction was "Wahay!"
How fucked up is that? I pick a vastly inflated number, and then tell myself I have reason to celebrate when I don't do as badly as I've said I'll do. Madness.
But I did at least get on the bike today, and when presented with homemade fudge by my mate Sue, I did the grown-up Disappearing thing, and kept it for d. I've eaten fairly carbtastically today though - largeish cereal breakfast, pasta linner - yeah, sod it, if "brunch" is a real thing, then if you have a single meal halfway between lunch and dinner, it's "linner".
And, as of today, there is Xenical in the house. Not in my system yet - that begins tomorrow morning at breakfast. Thought I was doing a Starbucks day tomorrow, but that's not going to happen now. Another day at the multi-faceted coalface, I reckon, but the To Do List will take a real dent as a result. And it means I can jump on the bike again first thing.
Also, thinking about it, I'll be at home for the first couple of Xenical days.
Yyyyeah. The more I think about that, the more sense it makes. OK, cool - homebody day as I become the Human Flume.
Fun fun fun now that Daddy took the T-Bird awaaaaaaay.
The numbers today, pre-biking, say 19st 1. That's nowhere near as bad as the 19st 7 I was predicting, but of course, it's still up by about 5 lb in the space of a week.
Now, a continuation of last week's stupidity - when I saw that this morning, my instinctive reaction was "Wahay!"
How fucked up is that? I pick a vastly inflated number, and then tell myself I have reason to celebrate when I don't do as badly as I've said I'll do. Madness.
But I did at least get on the bike today, and when presented with homemade fudge by my mate Sue, I did the grown-up Disappearing thing, and kept it for d. I've eaten fairly carbtastically today though - largeish cereal breakfast, pasta linner - yeah, sod it, if "brunch" is a real thing, then if you have a single meal halfway between lunch and dinner, it's "linner".
And, as of today, there is Xenical in the house. Not in my system yet - that begins tomorrow morning at breakfast. Thought I was doing a Starbucks day tomorrow, but that's not going to happen now. Another day at the multi-faceted coalface, I reckon, but the To Do List will take a real dent as a result. And it means I can jump on the bike again first thing.
Also, thinking about it, I'll be at home for the first couple of Xenical days.
Yyyyeah. The more I think about that, the more sense it makes. OK, cool - homebody day as I become the Human Flume.
Fun fun fun now that Daddy took the T-Bird awaaaaaaay.
Monday 8 December 2014
The Fuckwit Farewell
Soooo y'know my last entry said "Hoorah, got some Xenical prescribed, the weightloss starts here!" or words to that effect?
Yyyyyeah, since then, have yet to get the pills, and have been eating like a sugar-crazed maniac and doing precisely no exercise. It's that principle which I know is insane, which every fat person knows is insane - "I'm quitting soon, and I won't be able to do this. Better do it twice as hard now, while I can!" It's the reason why diets that start on Mondays are preceded by a weekend binge. It's the reason why alcoholics go on a week-long bender if they happen to know they're about to get checked in to rehab. It's the sense of missing a lifestyle that's killing you, even before it's gone, and essentially snogging the face off it while you can.
It is of course, insane. I'd be surprised if I'm less than 19st 7 tomorrow - yes, for those keeping score, that's worse than a few weekes ago when I started all this again. My only real hope is to wake up in the morning and doing something - walking, biking, whatever, just something, to make me start the day off right and stop me careening round my own life like a pinball. d has rather sportingly promised to kick my ass out of bed at ugh o'clock, precisely so I do something.
I did go for the pills this morning, only to be told that the pharmacy didn't have any in stock - I had to be back for a phone meeting or I'd have waited at the second pharmacy where the wall of backs proclaimed to all who coughed and ahemed for attention, "I see no scumbags, needing their scumbag meds."
Tomorrow, I begin what d calls a "commitment". I do something. This has long past the point where I can say "This is getting silly" and not be met with a scornful, eyebrow-raised sneer. This has been silly. It has pased through silly, back into stupid. It dallied a while in stupid before pushing on to fucking stupid, and now I find myself back in the distinctly dark and dingy neighbourhood of practically suicide by food. Again the question needs to be asked: am I stronger than my desire to self-destruct?
Let's find out.
Yyyyyeah, since then, have yet to get the pills, and have been eating like a sugar-crazed maniac and doing precisely no exercise. It's that principle which I know is insane, which every fat person knows is insane - "I'm quitting soon, and I won't be able to do this. Better do it twice as hard now, while I can!" It's the reason why diets that start on Mondays are preceded by a weekend binge. It's the reason why alcoholics go on a week-long bender if they happen to know they're about to get checked in to rehab. It's the sense of missing a lifestyle that's killing you, even before it's gone, and essentially snogging the face off it while you can.
It is of course, insane. I'd be surprised if I'm less than 19st 7 tomorrow - yes, for those keeping score, that's worse than a few weekes ago when I started all this again. My only real hope is to wake up in the morning and doing something - walking, biking, whatever, just something, to make me start the day off right and stop me careening round my own life like a pinball. d has rather sportingly promised to kick my ass out of bed at ugh o'clock, precisely so I do something.
I did go for the pills this morning, only to be told that the pharmacy didn't have any in stock - I had to be back for a phone meeting or I'd have waited at the second pharmacy where the wall of backs proclaimed to all who coughed and ahemed for attention, "I see no scumbags, needing their scumbag meds."
Tomorrow, I begin what d calls a "commitment". I do something. This has long past the point where I can say "This is getting silly" and not be met with a scornful, eyebrow-raised sneer. This has been silly. It has pased through silly, back into stupid. It dallied a while in stupid before pushing on to fucking stupid, and now I find myself back in the distinctly dark and dingy neighbourhood of practically suicide by food. Again the question needs to be asked: am I stronger than my desire to self-destruct?
Let's find out.
Thursday 4 December 2014
The Chemical Water Cannon
Something occurred to me - it was at about this point in the first Disappearing that Xenical, or Orlistat first made an appearance in my life. While having done the first stone and a half of weightloss (21 lbs) off my own bat, when the help of drugs was offered to me, I wasn't stupid enough to turn it down.
Went to the doctors today, just to introduce myself, talk heart issues, talk cholesterol, talk deafness, and of course talk weight. Told him about the losing six stone, putting four and a half of it back on thing, and his eyes widened. I mentioned the Xenical, and he said "Oh as long as you're under diabetic control - and you are - I've no problem putting you back on that."
So as of tomorrow, welcome back to my world the explosive orange shite bomb that is Xenical - basically it's a chemical truncheon or water cannon, to punish stupid-ass behaviour by shooting a percentage of the fat you take in right out of your ass without annnnny damn say on your part, in a ghastly orange flume.
Yay.
The idea being of course that the way you avoid this is to not take in the excess fat in the first damn place - so like a Pavlovian punching bag, you either learn to moderate your behaviour, or life gets messy and socially awkward.
Welcome back to life with the extremely scared Disappearing Man. Welcome back to the Orange Flume of Disgust. Welcome back to the chemical water cannon.
Went to the doctors today, just to introduce myself, talk heart issues, talk cholesterol, talk deafness, and of course talk weight. Told him about the losing six stone, putting four and a half of it back on thing, and his eyes widened. I mentioned the Xenical, and he said "Oh as long as you're under diabetic control - and you are - I've no problem putting you back on that."
So as of tomorrow, welcome back to my world the explosive orange shite bomb that is Xenical - basically it's a chemical truncheon or water cannon, to punish stupid-ass behaviour by shooting a percentage of the fat you take in right out of your ass without annnnny damn say on your part, in a ghastly orange flume.
Yay.
The idea being of course that the way you avoid this is to not take in the excess fat in the first damn place - so like a Pavlovian punching bag, you either learn to moderate your behaviour, or life gets messy and socially awkward.
Welcome back to life with the extremely scared Disappearing Man. Welcome back to the Orange Flume of Disgust. Welcome back to the chemical water cannon.
Wednesday 3 December 2014
The Boredom Games
Unff. Did I mention - Thanksgiving?
Weigh-in on Tuesday was static. Totally immobile, not an inch of progress. Fair enough, as the biking regime has gone man-tits up.
Been in London today - walked seven miles today, all told, burning over 900 calories. Sadly, have eaten a bit madly too - breakfast at Burger King, dinner at McDonalds. Bit dickwitted, to be fair. Home now till Christmas, and must knuckle...the fuck...down.
Seem to have succumbed to the boredom of the thing, but clearly that needs to be kicked to death, or ridden beneath the relentless grinding wheels of the exercise bike.
Sigh...
Seeing the doctor tomorrow to talk heart shite, and possibly also weight shite. More news as I get it.
Must sleep now, before I headbutt the screen.
Weigh-in on Tuesday was static. Totally immobile, not an inch of progress. Fair enough, as the biking regime has gone man-tits up.
Been in London today - walked seven miles today, all told, burning over 900 calories. Sadly, have eaten a bit madly too - breakfast at Burger King, dinner at McDonalds. Bit dickwitted, to be fair. Home now till Christmas, and must knuckle...the fuck...down.
Seem to have succumbed to the boredom of the thing, but clearly that needs to be kicked to death, or ridden beneath the relentless grinding wheels of the exercise bike.
Sigh...
Seeing the doctor tomorrow to talk heart shite, and possibly also weight shite. More news as I get it.
Must sleep now, before I headbutt the screen.
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