The Chocolate Bars Uneaten

Well, whoop-de-doo.

It's weigh-in day, and unlike last week, I'm here for it, at least physically.

Two weeks ago, I started out at 16 stone 9.25 pounds. 233.25 pounds, or...some kilos.

Missed weighing-in last week, and this morning's weight is...16 stone, 9.75 pounds.

Up. Half a pound. In spite of all the chocolate bars uneaten.

That's enough to inspire a hearty "Fuck this shit!" in my brain, but crucially, this time, makes no connection with my body. I'm not about to fall - or indeed, jump - off the bandwagon over this perversity. Clearly, I've eaten much more healthily than "normal," but also, there have been some carbfests, so it's not like I can rend my garments and wail to the ancient, uncaring, probably-already-dead stars "WHHHHHHY?! WHY MEEEEEEE?!"

I mean, you know what I'm like, so you know that's kind of what I want to do right now, but instead am going to be a stinking, lousy, rotten, sonofabitch grown-up and crack the hell on.

I s'pose.

Yippee!

Am off to a corporate entertainment gig for two days tomorrow, with travel also tomorrow and Friday, so things may be looser than usual, but still going to maintain my overt sugar avoidance malarkey, to keep the body unhappy, stressed and jittery - because that's just what you need the first time you meet your colleagues in a new job, right?

Onward, while flicking V-signs at my new half-pound fellow traveller.