The Tax Demand Cure and the Temporal Direct Debit

One thing I’ll say for the increase in fear that comes with falling off the wagon of a daily routine of exercise and healthy eating – it does wonders to cure you of obsessive, three-times-a-morning, every morning and twice-a-night weighing that the prospect of progress instils in you if you happen to be an obsessive, habitual creature of addictions. It’s almost like the difference between waiting for post on your birthday as a child and very pointedly not waiting for post as a taxpaying adult. You don’t expect nice things in the post as a taxpaying adult, only more demands for money, or junk mail, or increasingly tedious effluvium and pointlessness in envelopes. So you don’t wait, excited, by the letterbox, waiting to claim every tiny sliver of joy that’s shoved in your direction. Rather, if you know you’ve been bad, you avoid the letterbox altogether, and shove whatever post does arrive into a vague brown and white heap, to be opened when you’re altogether stronger and able to deal with it.

So it is with weighing when you think you’re likely to be wildly out of control. You don’t want to know, because you know that when you do look, it’s just going to put a crimp of failure and, like as not, self-recrimination into your day. If you happen to work to deadlines, there are times when you simply can’t fit that much breast-beating into any given day.

Still, official is as official does. Weighed today since I’m back among you all, detailing the minutiae of my daily Disappearing, and weighed in at 19st 1.

I’m really rather surprised by that, but the Nazi Scales are resplendently unpleasant and eager with the new batteries d bought for them, so I have no reason to doubt them. Of course, everything in me would prefer to see an 18, but considering the reluctance into which I’ve fallen to do anything as pro-active as ‘move about,’ 19st 1 is a positive triumph. I’m just one hearty bowel movement away from seeing an 18 again.

I did, to be fair, jump on the bike after writing last night’s entry, albeit for a paltry half-hour and 300 calories. If nothing else, it helped me shift the funk of reluctance that was evident in my mood yesterday. At the moment though, I feel as though there’s too much to do and not anywhere near enough time to do it in. This, in all probability, is a time of tokenism – doing a tiny bit of this and that here and there in between the things that must be done, in order to kid myself I’m making progress on all fronts, like a kind of direct debit agreement, only with time, taking a tiny bite here and there to reduce the overall mountain of what must be done by an infinitesimal amount, but allow me to feel like I’m doing something. So – maybe another half-hour of biking tonight, with perhaps a half-hour of work on the flat to prepare it for selling sometime in the next few months, to spin that plate a tiny bit too. 

That’ll let me fall into bed tonight feeling like something’s been accomplished. Which is what passes for a plan in my brain these days.