Nobody likes me,
Everybody hates me,
Think I'll go and eat worms...
Not really, no - I'm on much more of an upswing, emotionally, this week than I was last, when for some reason, things just seemed to get on top of me and I posted from my blanket-fort.
Sigh...in the interests of honesty, not a real blanket-fort, a thoroughly fictional one - got stuck in to editing a great novel that'll be coming atcha sometime vaguely soonish, and it provided a bit of an escape from the real world, as I wasn't doing Reality as such last week.
Nevertheless, I did actually get on the Nazi Scales last Tuesday morning, and then his that knowledge allll to myself like a squirrel with its nuts of nonsense. I was 17st 5 pounds last Tuesday. Up again. Understandably up, so I'm told I can't complain.
I'd quite like to complain about not being able to complain. Quite like to stamp my foot into mashed banana, overturn my dish of pudding and cry till I'm red in the face and people run around and mortgage the house to buy me things to soothe me.
But, as that's not gonna happen, apparently, I can't complain.
Can't complain about this week's result either. Because for a whoooole other week, I've done precisely nothing to help myself lose weight. There has been lackadaisical eating, there has been fudge and Other Stuff, there has been almost less than zero walking. I wouldn't be surprised to find my ass is growing moss, frankly.
Which is why today found me getting on the Nazi Scales, seeing them tell me I was 17st 6.5, and twisting round to shout at my own ass.
'Seriously? What the fuck? You're full of shit!'
No, really. I got off the scales, got on with things, refused to get entirely dressed because surely, if it knew what was good for it, my ass would be doing its thing any minute, and then I'd have to weigh again to get the real figure.
An hour and a half later, I was actively threatening my own ass.
'Straighten up and fly right, damn you, or I'll get a tapeworm. Then you'll be sorry... Shurrup, I know I'll be sorry too, that's not the point. You're an ass, you have very few jobs to do in your life. Do what you're there for, otherwise I'll have to write a blog about going up another pound and a half this week, and I'll make ya look really bad. I know, I know, you're an ass, it's not like you're exactly a looker to begin with, but gimme a goddamn break here!'
It was more or less when I heard that line, out in the open, bounding off the concrete walls of my office, that I swallowed, took a deep breath, got dressed and made myself some breakfast. When you're threatening your own ass with a tapeworm, it's time to get over yourself and get on with the day.
Still decided to constipation-shame my ass in this blog though. Hey, you have to take your moments of self-determination where you can.
Onward, to more walking and the being of the sensible...
Also maybe a worm...
Showing posts with label bathroom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bathroom. Show all posts
Tuesday, 30 April 2019
Tuesday, 27 March 2018
The Swearing teeth and the Nazi Scales
Scuse me a second, I need to put my swearing teeth in.
Goddamnsonofanadultdiaperpissingcockarsewanker....
Sigh. Thanks. Feel at least a smidgen better now.
Last week, against all odds and logic, you might remember I'd lost a pound. Whoop de doo, a whole solitary pound, that took me down to 19st 1 pound.
Yay, thought I - all I have to do is be as good next week as I was this week - which wasn't that good, all told - and I'll be on the 19 stone border. Just a little better, and I might see an 18.
D'you wanna know what I saw when I got on the Nazi Scales* today?
Do ya?
19 stone, 0.25, that's what.
A quarter of a goddamn pound. I'm a meaningful fart away from the border, dammit! The Nazi Scales are clearly having just a devil of a laugh with me, stringing me out for just as long as they possibly can.
Still, another week when I've lost weight. The barest, three-quarters of a pound of weight, true, but inching pathetically in the right direction nontheless. Yippee Skippy, and on we go.
* Fro those who don't know, I maintain a working theory that Nazis, when they die, get reincarnated as the bathroom scales of fat people. That means not only do they get an eternity of being stepped on, just to see how they like it, but also that there's a logic of utter bastardy in what every fat person sees when they step on a scale. Hence the Nazi Scales.
Goddamnsonofanadultdiaperpissingcockarsewanker....
Sigh. Thanks. Feel at least a smidgen better now.
Last week, against all odds and logic, you might remember I'd lost a pound. Whoop de doo, a whole solitary pound, that took me down to 19st 1 pound.
Yay, thought I - all I have to do is be as good next week as I was this week - which wasn't that good, all told - and I'll be on the 19 stone border. Just a little better, and I might see an 18.
D'you wanna know what I saw when I got on the Nazi Scales* today?
Do ya?
19 stone, 0.25, that's what.
A quarter of a goddamn pound. I'm a meaningful fart away from the border, dammit! The Nazi Scales are clearly having just a devil of a laugh with me, stringing me out for just as long as they possibly can.
Still, another week when I've lost weight. The barest, three-quarters of a pound of weight, true, but inching pathetically in the right direction nontheless. Yippee Skippy, and on we go.
* Fro those who don't know, I maintain a working theory that Nazis, when they die, get reincarnated as the bathroom scales of fat people. That means not only do they get an eternity of being stepped on, just to see how they like it, but also that there's a logic of utter bastardy in what every fat person sees when they step on a scale. Hence the Nazi Scales.
Friday, 27 January 2017
The Temporal Schism
So - good, bold idea yesterday, this whole 500 mile thing. What's become clear since then is that it's not the walking that'll be the issue with it. It's time management.
Yesterday, I posted the blog, but the day-job ran through what would normally be my lunch hour.
'What are you gonna do? Gonna go?' asked d, as 3 o'clock came and went.
'Absolutely,' I said, all grim determination and fullness of my new idea.
'Annnd how long does it take?'
'What, once-round my route?'
'Yep.'
'Aaaabout two hours.'
'So you've missed a lunchtime slot. And you can't go now cos it's the middle of the afternoon, so you're looking at 5 o'clock. Plus two hours. What are you gonna do? Go round to get your 10,000 steps, come in, have dinner, go out and do another one? You're gonna be walking around this town at 10 o'clock?'
'Yeah, if that's what's necessary,' I said, still fired up with my idea and my cause.
'Cos that's not obsessive at all.'
'It's what's...necessary,' I said, coming back to the word. I have a staggering capacity to re-frame the world in black and white, the necessary and the unnecessary, when the focus comes over me, as those familiar with the Disappearing Man will already understand. And yes, sometimes that leads me to excesses of selfishness that can affect those who love me. Cos yeah, sometimes, I'm a blinkered bastard.
'It's not necessary,' she said. 'It's you formalising some of your slavish tendencies. Must Walk Twice is not a holy mantra you know? What's next? Three times?'
Now - there are times when I should be jocular, annnnd then there are other times. 'Only reason to go to three would be to cut the middle one down to a single hour,' I said.
'Mm-hmm. Slavish.'
'I just...it seems to be working for me, baby. I don't want to stop it working.'
She came and kissed me. 'You're a numpty,' she said. 'I don't want to stop it working either. I just don't want you to become some obsessive walking zombie.'
I held her tight. 'Won't. Promise. Just wanna get my steps in.'
'So go once, and do a different route. Do what you feel you need to do, baby, just...come home and be.'
'I will baby. I always will...'
'Right,' she said. 'Best get on then - you've got two hours of money to earn before you turn into the Happy Wanderer.' She kissed me again, and left me to it.
Come 5 o'clock, I went a-happy wandering. My usual route is uphill to one roundabout, uphill to a second roundabout, then left through Dowlais and round in a biggish circle. I go that way, turning left because the alternatives are odd. You can turn right, and go in an entirely different circle, or you can go up again. If you go up the third up, you're almost committing to a number of follow-on ups, because my town is built out of hills on top of hills. Last night I walked the ups. All the way up through several high horizons, all the way to the Asda store that sits at the top of the town, looking down over all our lives like King Retail on his blasted heath of a throne.
Given that it's so dauntingly high, and takes so much schlepping to get to, I was surprised to find it was only 5,500 steps from home to Asda. That meant I'd have to go there and back twice to get my 20,000 steps in. Having got up there, I ruled that out. Came back in a very convoluted way, inolving going up several blind alleys that I didn't know were blind alleys. The long and the short of it is that I ended up doing 21,000 steps not as two chunks, but as one.
That's not something I'd recommend. Came home and had to bathe my feet. But crucially perhaps, doing it in one chunk, while technically doable, was neither time-wise nor especially diet-friendly, because when I got back, we ate dinner, falling back into the pattern that previously had me not moving down.
This morning, in my obligatory unofficial weigh-in, that was refelected by a bump in the figures on the Nazi Scales, the 21,000 steps almost negated by their place in the day, prior to eating dinner.
Today, timing continued to be my own personal bastard. For reasons you don't need to know about, I'd booked half of today off, plus all day Monday and Tuesday. Half day today because I had a big meeting to phone in for today at two. After last night's stepathon, I slept in massively, found myself getting to my desk just a little before midday. Not quite enough time to do my walk and get back for my meeting, so worked on some editing in the meantime.
Two o'clock came, and I sat ready for the call.
Two thirty came, and I started calling - my boss, everyone else in the office...Texted, sent emails and Skype-messages. Was I missing the meeting?
At three o'clock I got a text back from the boss. "Meeting 2pm MONDAY. At a funeral right now."
Soooo that was a screw-up, then. Way to look like a psycho stalkerboy with no sbility to read a calendar. Class.
Went out eventually to do my walk, but couldn't, tonight, do more than my single revolution, and what now feels like a relatively paltry 10,000 steps, because on the way round, I was struck by stomach cramps again. Made it home safely but am getting more than a little peeved with the digestive roller-coaster of this thing.
And of course, my screw up meant that again, I did my walking, came home, ate, and then was sedentary until the point of going to bed. Need to master the now-unfamiliar art of of morning walking again, to give myself a jump on the day and its exercise-needs if I'm to achieve my goals here.
Onward then...
Yesterday, I posted the blog, but the day-job ran through what would normally be my lunch hour.
'What are you gonna do? Gonna go?' asked d, as 3 o'clock came and went.
'Absolutely,' I said, all grim determination and fullness of my new idea.
'Annnd how long does it take?'
'What, once-round my route?'
'Yep.'
'Aaaabout two hours.'
'So you've missed a lunchtime slot. And you can't go now cos it's the middle of the afternoon, so you're looking at 5 o'clock. Plus two hours. What are you gonna do? Go round to get your 10,000 steps, come in, have dinner, go out and do another one? You're gonna be walking around this town at 10 o'clock?'
'Yeah, if that's what's necessary,' I said, still fired up with my idea and my cause.
'Cos that's not obsessive at all.'
'It's what's...necessary,' I said, coming back to the word. I have a staggering capacity to re-frame the world in black and white, the necessary and the unnecessary, when the focus comes over me, as those familiar with the Disappearing Man will already understand. And yes, sometimes that leads me to excesses of selfishness that can affect those who love me. Cos yeah, sometimes, I'm a blinkered bastard.
'It's not necessary,' she said. 'It's you formalising some of your slavish tendencies. Must Walk Twice is not a holy mantra you know? What's next? Three times?'
Now - there are times when I should be jocular, annnnd then there are other times. 'Only reason to go to three would be to cut the middle one down to a single hour,' I said.
'Mm-hmm. Slavish.'
'I just...it seems to be working for me, baby. I don't want to stop it working.'
She came and kissed me. 'You're a numpty,' she said. 'I don't want to stop it working either. I just don't want you to become some obsessive walking zombie.'
I held her tight. 'Won't. Promise. Just wanna get my steps in.'
'So go once, and do a different route. Do what you feel you need to do, baby, just...come home and be.'
'I will baby. I always will...'
'Right,' she said. 'Best get on then - you've got two hours of money to earn before you turn into the Happy Wanderer.' She kissed me again, and left me to it.
Come 5 o'clock, I went a-happy wandering. My usual route is uphill to one roundabout, uphill to a second roundabout, then left through Dowlais and round in a biggish circle. I go that way, turning left because the alternatives are odd. You can turn right, and go in an entirely different circle, or you can go up again. If you go up the third up, you're almost committing to a number of follow-on ups, because my town is built out of hills on top of hills. Last night I walked the ups. All the way up through several high horizons, all the way to the Asda store that sits at the top of the town, looking down over all our lives like King Retail on his blasted heath of a throne.
Given that it's so dauntingly high, and takes so much schlepping to get to, I was surprised to find it was only 5,500 steps from home to Asda. That meant I'd have to go there and back twice to get my 20,000 steps in. Having got up there, I ruled that out. Came back in a very convoluted way, inolving going up several blind alleys that I didn't know were blind alleys. The long and the short of it is that I ended up doing 21,000 steps not as two chunks, but as one.
That's not something I'd recommend. Came home and had to bathe my feet. But crucially perhaps, doing it in one chunk, while technically doable, was neither time-wise nor especially diet-friendly, because when I got back, we ate dinner, falling back into the pattern that previously had me not moving down.
This morning, in my obligatory unofficial weigh-in, that was refelected by a bump in the figures on the Nazi Scales, the 21,000 steps almost negated by their place in the day, prior to eating dinner.
Today, timing continued to be my own personal bastard. For reasons you don't need to know about, I'd booked half of today off, plus all day Monday and Tuesday. Half day today because I had a big meeting to phone in for today at two. After last night's stepathon, I slept in massively, found myself getting to my desk just a little before midday. Not quite enough time to do my walk and get back for my meeting, so worked on some editing in the meantime.
Two o'clock came, and I sat ready for the call.
Two thirty came, and I started calling - my boss, everyone else in the office...Texted, sent emails and Skype-messages. Was I missing the meeting?
At three o'clock I got a text back from the boss. "Meeting 2pm MONDAY. At a funeral right now."
Soooo that was a screw-up, then. Way to look like a psycho stalkerboy with no sbility to read a calendar. Class.
Went out eventually to do my walk, but couldn't, tonight, do more than my single revolution, and what now feels like a relatively paltry 10,000 steps, because on the way round, I was struck by stomach cramps again. Made it home safely but am getting more than a little peeved with the digestive roller-coaster of this thing.
And of course, my screw up meant that again, I did my walking, came home, ate, and then was sedentary until the point of going to bed. Need to master the now-unfamiliar art of of morning walking again, to give myself a jump on the day and its exercise-needs if I'm to achieve my goals here.
Onward then...
Monday, 9 January 2017
The Cramps Of Doom
Can you think of anything worse than sudden and unpredictable stomach cramps?
I can.
Sudden and unpredictable stomach-cramps, five thousand steps into a 12,000-step walk, when you're in the middle of Bumblefuck, Nowheresville.
Yep, on balance, I'd have to say that's worse.
I'd have to say that after tonight's experience. Having been rather pleased with yesterday's Numb Zone walk, I set out to do it again, and it was going just swimmingly, until, almost exactly 5000 steps in - wallop! Waves of nausea that ran up my spine, hit my throat, slipped down to my stomach and set my whole digestive tract doing La Cucaracha, with what we'll euphemistically call 'the business end' whiplashing like a speared snake.
Ladies and gentlemen of the Disappearing World, I'd like to sing a song of praise, if you don't mind.
A song of praise to the humble sphincter - of which of course we have far more than we imagine.
Much clenching was done. Much eye-shutting mental screaming of the words 'No no no no no!'
Much sweating too, as I walked possibly the fastest 6000 steps of my life - it is perhaps indicative of my particular perversity that rather than, for instance, pulling my phone and calling a friend or a taxi, even in such sudden distress, I thought 'Fuck that, I want the steps!' and simply turned around to complete the walk.
Then, ossly, suddenly, there was a plateau, and I was able to walk without fear for some time.
Then wallop! La cucaracha! Clench, clench, clench, No, no, no, no, no!
Annnd relax. Walk, walk, walk!
Wallop! La cucaracha!...
And so on. For 6000 steps (sue me, I took a short cut over yesterday's 12,000-step version!).
A word to the wise - when you're having one of these battles...don't cough. Just...just really, don't.
Having deployed the likes of Led Zeppelin's Immigrant Song to power me in very many very short strides down a long stretch just before the final run, I thought I was safe. I made it to within 500 yards of home.
WALL-the fuck!-OP! IN CASE YOU'RE REALLY NOT GETTING THIS, LA PISSING CUCA-BLEEDIN'-RACHA, PILGRIM!
Clench, clench, clench...Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Clench, you mother puss-bucket! CLEEEEEENCH!
There was a moment when I simply knew that I was out of the driving seat. Either this final intense bout of clenching would be enough, and I'd get home safely, or La Cucaracha would keep building and building and building and finally overpower my capacity to clench, and 500 yards from home, I would end up a hideous mess.
CLENCH, CLENCH, CLEEEEEEEENCH!!!
Ahhh....
The clenching won. This time.
I got home with barely seconds of clenching and resolve left in me.
And as my will to walk and, frankly, lunch, poured out of me, as that turning of my insides to horrifying smoothie took control, I knew I was on a Disappearing journey. Because the only thought that swam clear to the surface of my brain was 'Fantastic! Monday night! This can't be bad, the night before a weigh-in!'
Sigh. That's the Disappearing Mindset for you right there, folks.
I can.
Sudden and unpredictable stomach-cramps, five thousand steps into a 12,000-step walk, when you're in the middle of Bumblefuck, Nowheresville.
Yep, on balance, I'd have to say that's worse.
I'd have to say that after tonight's experience. Having been rather pleased with yesterday's Numb Zone walk, I set out to do it again, and it was going just swimmingly, until, almost exactly 5000 steps in - wallop! Waves of nausea that ran up my spine, hit my throat, slipped down to my stomach and set my whole digestive tract doing La Cucaracha, with what we'll euphemistically call 'the business end' whiplashing like a speared snake.
Ladies and gentlemen of the Disappearing World, I'd like to sing a song of praise, if you don't mind.
A song of praise to the humble sphincter - of which of course we have far more than we imagine.
Much clenching was done. Much eye-shutting mental screaming of the words 'No no no no no!'
Much sweating too, as I walked possibly the fastest 6000 steps of my life - it is perhaps indicative of my particular perversity that rather than, for instance, pulling my phone and calling a friend or a taxi, even in such sudden distress, I thought 'Fuck that, I want the steps!' and simply turned around to complete the walk.
Then, ossly, suddenly, there was a plateau, and I was able to walk without fear for some time.
Then wallop! La cucaracha! Clench, clench, clench, No, no, no, no, no!
Annnd relax. Walk, walk, walk!
Wallop! La cucaracha!...
And so on. For 6000 steps (sue me, I took a short cut over yesterday's 12,000-step version!).
A word to the wise - when you're having one of these battles...don't cough. Just...just really, don't.
Having deployed the likes of Led Zeppelin's Immigrant Song to power me in very many very short strides down a long stretch just before the final run, I thought I was safe. I made it to within 500 yards of home.
WALL-the fuck!-OP! IN CASE YOU'RE REALLY NOT GETTING THIS, LA PISSING CUCA-BLEEDIN'-RACHA, PILGRIM!
Clench, clench, clench...Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Clench, you mother puss-bucket! CLEEEEEENCH!
There was a moment when I simply knew that I was out of the driving seat. Either this final intense bout of clenching would be enough, and I'd get home safely, or La Cucaracha would keep building and building and building and finally overpower my capacity to clench, and 500 yards from home, I would end up a hideous mess.
CLENCH, CLENCH, CLEEEEEEEENCH!!!
Ahhh....
The clenching won. This time.
I got home with barely seconds of clenching and resolve left in me.
And as my will to walk and, frankly, lunch, poured out of me, as that turning of my insides to horrifying smoothie took control, I knew I was on a Disappearing journey. Because the only thought that swam clear to the surface of my brain was 'Fantastic! Monday night! This can't be bad, the night before a weigh-in!'
Sigh. That's the Disappearing Mindset for you right there, folks.
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