1994

I had to pop to the doctors this morning, as I was running out of Xenical. Normally, before being given my next month's fix of these evil wonderdrugs, I have to be weighed by the nurse. But she wasn't available, so there was a locum doctor who stabbed me with a flu jab and did my weigh-in.
"Good grief," he said, looking at the numbers on his screen. "You're doing well, aren't you?"
"Well..." I said. I'd pre-weighed before going, and there was little movement from last week - in fact, there was a danger of addition tomorrow.
"1994..." he murmured.
"Pardon?"
"You haven't been this light...as far back as 1994," he explained.
I blinked.
I'd sort of thought as much, with all my regular talk about not having been this way for more than a decade, but it was a bit of a positive thunderbolt to hear it from a doctor. 1994...
The interesting thing is that even the 1994 reading of my weight was heavier than I am now. It's kind of 'since records began' really - I was diagnosed as diabetic in 1995. I can't remember at this distance why I would have been weighed in 1994 - maybe some initial check-up when I was simply 'feeling' diabetic, I'm not sure.

Seventeen years.
Can you imagine if we had the power to regulate our actual age by virtue of what we did? If we could, much as I'm loving being 40, then right about now, I'd be 23 at most...but then I suppose, in that world, plastic surgery would be not only the most expensive, but the most genuinely valuable medical procedure in the history of humanity. Hmm - possible idea for a short story there....

The doc gave me an unheard-of two monthsworth of Xenical, as a reward for being so good. Ha. I maintain, I'm going to be heavier tomorrow than I was last Tuesday, but the kind of week that this has been means I'm not too bothered about this likelihood. Once Wednesday is out of the way, my life should return to some sort of normal routine, one way or another.

If that was the Yin of the day, the Yang is something I've known for a fortnight, but deliberately haven't mentioned till now. My eyeballs.

My eyeballs flick big fuck-off V's at the idea of being 23 again. Two weeks ago, I had a long-overdue eye test. My prescription had shifted to the point where, for the first time in my life, I need varifocals. So, having picked them up today, I appear to have a 23 year old body with, say, 45 year old eyes. Still, all in all, a good-ish day.

Oh, and for all those of you who've been asking - no, d had a crappy night...and pretty much a crappy most-of-today too. She's back to being mainly in control of her innards now, but, on cue, it looks like she's got a sinus issue flaring up this evening. It's rarely easy being my wife, bless her, but at least, on this occasion, it's not down to any of my neuroses or fuck-ups. Thanks for all the well-wishes for her though - she was touched by 'em all.

Weigh-in tomorrow. And we shall see what we shall see...