The Dreadfulness Quotient

I'm currently being affected by an odd thing - a kind of bizarre point at which which mathematics and lemmings intersect. I call it the Dreadfulness Quotient. I weighed in on Tuesday, and was up a couple of pounds - 17st 13.5. But to be fair on Wednesday, I hadn't productively employed a bathroom in about five days, and was walking around like a human recycling bin, slowly composting my entrails...as ya do.

Since then, I've been on something of a...well, not exactly a 'fuck-itfest' as a kind of 'whateverfest' - not exactly burning my world down, but not doing anything meaningful in the way of exercise, focusing on crazy deadlines, and eating more of what I want than I should. Result? Meh - weighed informally this morning and I'm back in the 18s, which sucks. Am I going to worry about it? Probably. Am I going to do anything productive about it? I'm not at all convinced, to be honest - d just asked me if I'm going walking tomorrow morning before going to Starbucks for another whole day of working. The idea pretty much horrified me. And I have an idea that I'm about to take on another project for which I may or may not realistically have time. Sooooo all in all, my life makes spectacularly little sense right now, but sense is possibly just a little overrated - as far as I can see, I'm pretty much screwed till Christmas or beyond. Disappearing will happen during this time. I actually want to get beneath 16 stone by early January. But am I fucking my brain over right now, trying to juggle everything? No - I'm in a To-Do List mentality, and I'm slamming through things at just about as as fast a rate as I can.

Which means I'll catch you tomorrow - got to go do stuff.