Nuts!

Blood this morning was 5.8.
Spent the morning accompanying my dad hither....and then very decidedly yon, as he had two different appointments at two different hospitals for two entirely unconnected treatments. Have to say, the man was in good form today, compared to recent weeks - witty, chatty, engaged, and had a good colour (before getting a couple of pints of blood in the afternoon). So that boded rather well, though it's entirely possible of course I was seeing him in a rare-ish window of goodness.

Didn't have time for breakfast this morning, or time to do what is fast becoming my usual pre-work manic biking session. So when I got home lunch-ish time, made myself a lunch of soup and bread (rounnnnnd about 500 calories, already planning to burn them off later!). Then I did a stupid thing. I noticed that my 'trail mix' jar was running a bit low, so went to the larder (yes, we have a larder cupboard. Quaint, no?) and got a packet of roasted, salted peanuts and cashews out, and added them to the mix...taking just a handful to taste.

Ever heard the word "more-ish"? I have to ask, because for the first two years we were married, every time I'd describe one of her meals as "more-ish", d had no idea what the Hell I was talking about, mistranslated me as having said "Moorish" and went away scratching her head, wondering what, for instance, about her Macaroni Cheese had a Turkish or Moroccan vibe...

Thing is...I find cashews insatiably more-ish - meaning, to steal a Pringles commercial, once you pop, you just can't stop. I grabbed one handful...made myself a coffee...grabbed another handful...poured some soup into a bowl...grabbed another handful...buttered some bread (Yeah, go ahead, sue me!)...grabbed another handful. Picked up everything to take it out to the kitchen...picked up the trail mix jar while I was at it...and pretty much fell all the way to Hell!

Thing is, normally, that would do a bit more than blow the bloody doors off a Disappearing Day. Today though, I knew I was gonna do some biking at home, do some gymming...at the gym, and follow that up with some swimming, meaning aquacising. So I figured I was good and covered.

Then The Afternoon happened. I have no satisfactory explanation for this, except people tell me they often do. Usually after The Morning. I ended up going upstairs and jumping on the bike just a little before I should have been walkin gout the door to start the gym session. Then d came home, feeling a bit grim all told, and not in any way, shape or form up for aqua. So we pretty much decided that I would simply stay on the bike, and do...a bit longer. Which I did. Happily. Joyfully. Musically. And now I'm trying to do maths with a positive bent - sure, I burned more than a lunchworth of calories on the bike, but the nuts are still technically bugging me. There were at least a few hundred caloriesworth of nuts there...which I'm allowed of course on any day. Gonna have something like lunch for dinner (seem to be going through a soup-and-bread phase!)...so all in all, I should still be OK. But the old Disappearing Man, the one that was insane and neurotic and worried and weighed and tossed and turned at night for the sake of a spoonful of Macaroni Cheese (mmmm...more-ish!) is niggling away deep in the background, telling me I should have stopped sooner, or not started...then I'd be in (gasp!) negative overall calories for the day, and wow, wouldn't that be cool. It'd be like the lifestyle equivalent of eating salad....

Thwack!

That, of course, was me, punching the old Disappearing Man in the face. Nothing gives you more perspective on your piss-ant little neuroses, I find, than spending a morning in the company of someone who doesn't particularly want to be brave, but just is because that's who they are. That's my dad, folks. So this is me, shutting the Hell up and going in search of soup. And bread. Yes, and butter, dammit. The math will work out over time, and it's only Wednesday. Gotta think of this in terms of the long haul. Do what's doable, day in, day out. make progress at a sensible rate of knots.

Takes a deep breath.

Soooooooooup!