I’m rushing around looking for last minute things like my tarot cards (writing exercise) and the new Tom Tom and my brilliant Kindle that Jenny decorated, but I’m popping in to announce the wonderful news that I weigh 237.5. Now most of you will see that and go, oh, no, she gained a pound and a half, and give me words of encouragement.
But the thing is, I’m an old hand at this game. And weight never simply plummets. Well, it does if you weigh once a week, I suppose, but the scale tends to be my friend. When it was giving me trouble last month it was trying to tell me something, namely that I was eating too much, even if it was healthy.
So I pop on every day or so, just to remind myself that I need to be honest.
And the brilliant thing is, I never trust low weights. I finally cracked the 230s (squeaking down to 239) and that was lovely, and then everything went to hell and I didn’t eat and had … er … gastrointestinal upset (we’ll have to decide how honest we want to be about such things) so I knew I’d be down a lot and I was 236. Which I didn’t trust. So getting on the scale and being at 237.5 feels like a real triumph, a real weight. It’s not going to go up from there — well, you never can tell given water weight etc. but it’s unlikely. It’s going to go down. And I can now celebrate being well and solidly out of the 240’s, not just dipping down or being freaked out.
So I’m off to the wilds of Syracuse with a happy heart. The child situation seems to have stabilized again, which reminds me — I’ll talk about anger when I have time. It’s a loaded issue for me, and for a lot of you too, and at the heart of my relationships with my mother and son.
Because this year is about losing weight, and decluttering my house, and getting healthy (oh, god, colonoscopy here we come), getting finances in order, creating fun things, trying new projects, and getting my relationships in healthy order.
All this refurbished fabulousness just waiting to burst forth.
Nothing but good times ahead.