Blood this morning was 5.4.
And the inevitable point of Tuesday is:
17 stone 2 pounds.
This is pretty much where I hoped to be in my ramble yesterday - close enough to the 17 stone mark to be within reach next week. I'm fairly sure this is lighter than I've ever been while I've known d, but I could be wrong about that - I gave up weighing yeeeears ago, before starting this experiment.
When I was laying in bed last night, pondering Tuesday, I'll be honest with you, I was fed throughly up. I feel so boooooored with this whole thing, and feel like I'm being boring about it too. I wanted to behave like a yob, like a complete brat - wanted to shout and squabble and dive head first into a cake from Carlo's Bakery and actually choke on it, get it in my eyes and the little hair I have, get cake up my nose and in my ears, and just revel, in the sugar, in the wrongness, in the freedom and independence and fun!
I think, to be honest, I just wanted to be free of the constant thinking, the endless wretched focus on what goes in my mouth and what the fuck doesn't, on exercise and mathematics, and matching up and taking pills and doing all this...STUFF!
(Takes a deep breath).
Fell asleep. Woke up this morning, got a good-enough result, and moved the Hell on. Walked a bit today, and when I'm done with this endless self-regard, I'm gonna jump on the bike for a ten-miler. Had a meal out tonight - soup and pasta and garlic bread with cheese, so in terms of all the stuff I want to stop doing, like the counting and the checking and the endless tick-tock clockwork of my pitchfork-arsing brain...not exactly the most sensible menu. It was beautiful though, and I figure I had to eat, and sometimes, just sometimes, you have to let a little joy back in the room, or you'll go stark raving mad.
So this is me...not going stark raving mad. Honest.
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