I’ll share a little secret with you. I determined last night
that today, I was gonna buy each of the new “Limited Edition” Kit-Kats, and eat
them on the way to Southampton. And a bag of Mini-Eggs, dammit.
The idea had fixed itself in my head that I was gonna be
stuck putting on weight like a blimp while this ear infection gave me vertigo
and seasickness that prevented me from walking any great distance without
feeling queasy, or staying upright on any piece of equipment worth the name.
Figured I must be back to about 18 stone, having had a week of this already, so
fuck it! I might as well enjoy some sensations from being that weight, right?!
Got on the scales this morning, for an unofficial weigh-in.
They said 17st 7. There are two factors to take into account here. Firstly, I
never do an official weigh-in before my morning “constitutional” – or bathroom
visit. And secondly in recent weeks, most of the official weigh-ins (though
notably not the last one) have been conducted after doing some hard exercise…which
experience tells me knocks a pound and a half off the reading. This morning’s
reading was before any constitutional, and beyond the reach of any exercise.
So…damn.
I’ve actually lost weight this week.
I mentioned this to d, who, bless her, is a raging ball of snot and flu right
now.
“Well, d’uh,” she said, sniffing heavily. “I’b sick. I
habben’t been cooki’g. Tryi’g to kill you ebbery night…”
Pshwar, stuff and nonsense, I wanted to tell her. Then I
started thinking about it, and while I don’t hold her responsible in any way,
there’s a certain logic to it – we’ve both been feeling so wretched that we
haven’t generally felt like an evening meal this last week. Hmm…
The thing is, here’s where the logic flips – if I’d BEEN 18
stone, I would have gone ahead and had a chocolatefest this morning. But since
things were actually moving in my favour, I decided not to. Chance to make some
actual progress here, I thought. As
Shakespeare’s Richard III says – “Since I am crept in favour with myself, I
shall maintain it, to some little cost…”. As accurately cynical buggers have
been saying for a century, you gotta have money to make money. So in this game,
it appears you gotta have progress to make progress. Nevertheless the oddness
of the logical inversion struck me as worthy or reporting: when things go to
hell, and when we most need to redouble our efforts, it’s when we’re most
inclined to shoot things right along the fast track to oblivion. When we get
the tiniest crumb of encouragement, it’s all hands to the pumps and haloes all
round.
Today was generally pretty good. Had a Starbucks at Cardiff,
then didn’t feel the need to eat or drink anything else all day, as I knew I
was meeting Sian in Portsmouth for dinner. Had a Chinese buffet, and a good one
too, and with reasonable guiltlessness, had three smallish plates of assorted
food. Didn’t go overboard, particularly, but didn’t stint myself either,
figuring my system needed something in it to feed on. As I write this, we ate
something like six hours ago, so hopefully, it should be through my system by
the morning, and were there a scales in this hotel, I’d weigh-in just out of
curiosity, though of course it wouldn’t be official because they wouldn’t be my
scales.
Texted Sian on the way back to Southampton, saying it was
good to see her, and she was starting to look more like herself again than she’s
done for a while.
“Thanks,” she said. “Good to see you too. Can tell you’re
starting to Disappear again…”
Dammit…
Really wanted those Kit-Kats and Mini-Eggs!
Ah well…onward to glory, I suppose…
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