Still am, actually, but figured I'd take a moment to blog - if nothing else, my freind Sian tells me she reads them on her lunch hour at work, and people tell me tomorrow's Monday, so it sort of feels like a commission.
A very odd week, and no mistake. Am continuing to drive myself nuts with morning and evening unofficial weigh-ins. Have noticed swings of up to five pounds between an evening and the following morning, so who the hell knows what's going on any more? All I can do is keep on keeping on and trust that something good will happen.
It's really helpful, in trusting something good will happen, to have a couple of examples like those that have popped up today.
We've been doing a bit of a spring clean recently - my Tardis wardrobe is dismantled and bagged, ready to go to any Whovian who a) wants it, b) can collect it, and c) in the absence of instructions, can figure out how to put it together. As part of this process, we've been deciding which clothes to keep, and which to ditch.
Partly, I think, as a way of getting 'trying on clothes to see if we can throw them out' into my insano-schedule, d has been suggesting to me for a couple of days that, as it's been nice and Summery, I should wear some short sleeved shirts from the wardrobe. And I have, almost without thinking about it. And they've worked, and fitted, and looked, people tell me, pretty good. The point of which is that if I'd tried to do them up when I re-started this, they'd have looked absolutely hideous and I wouldn't have voted to keep them.
Keeping them now, that's for sure.
Again, have been more than inspired in this by d. As part of the spring clean, d tried on her wedding dress. Ten and a half years ago, she looked amazing in it, though (and I'm faiiiirly sure she's OK with me telling you this), she wore a 'sausage' underneath it to make it work as well as it did - a sausage, I'm also fairly sure I don't need to explain, being a kind of control garment.
When she tried it on this week - sans sausage - the wedding dress...well, to use her phrase, it hung off her like a sack. Big handfuls of golden material were pinchable either side before it fit anywhere near her. That's my Disappearing Woman.
It was a revelation underlined today, when, as we went out for lunch, she put on a black and white polka dot dress she'd already given away more than ten years ago, to a friend. Annie, the friend, has sadly since passed away, and the dress came back to d as a memento. d was sure she'd never wear it again - it was too small for her a decade ago when she gave it away.
Fits her beautifully now. Was hardly able to take my eyes off her all day.
Annnnd so we go to exercise biking, to sweat, manfully - and then probably to at least a reasonably cool shower, but the point is this: Disappearing, ultimately, works. Clothes begin to fit again. I have three Winter coats that I have yet to try on, but they'll be within my wardrobe-range by the time Winter actually gets here, so that, in the immortal lines of Epona, one of my goddaughters, I can once again 'look like a Watcher' - big Buffy fan, her mother having done her job well.
As I recall, the coats start to fit me somewhere in the high 17 stones. So - here's hoping for sooner rather than later.
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