Snowbusiness (maybe)

I don’t think I’m losing weight – so am too scared to weigh.  The sickness has gone as a side effect but I also seem to have lost the positive side effect of just not being hungry very often.  It may all be academic anyway as I have to see my GP tomorrow to see if they’ll continue the treatment recommended by the specialist and they almost always won’t if it involves prescriptions.  It’s a shame as, weight aside, it’s had a dramatic effect on my blood sugar readings.

I’m still finding life hard.  I still feel like the booby prize in life’s raffle – the one that people constantly give back. 

And really, I should not whinge or whine or feel sorry for myself.  Work is – generally – good.  P is occasionally sideswiped by a tsunami of grief but is coping pretty well.  I have friends going through hard times and I should be counting my blessings.  Pretty hard to climb out of that rut though.  Or maybe I’m just the biggest wuss ever.

We’re talking about going away for a week in January.  We’ve not had a holiday and if I’m tired, I think P is exhausted.  Originally we planned to find some sun but this is harder than you might think if you want decent weather but don’t want to fly long haul anywhere.  As wonderful as it all sounded – and P wanted somewhere sunny he could flop by the pool for most of the holiday – I was starting to full scale panic about being too fat for this type of holiday.  I didn’t let on of course.  But I could see me being the only one in a skirt and t-shirt, huddled miserably on a sun lounger. 

As it is, we can’t find anywhere where it is a) sunny, b) not windy, c) not rainy and d) around 4 hours flying time.  Oman was the closest at 7-8 hours.  So we’re now thinking of holing up somewhere cold and snowy, seeing the Northern lights and short outdoorsy bursts of fun interspersed with hot chocolate and fires and books.  This doesn’t hold the same level of painfully self-aware trauma.  Let’s see if we can pull it off with a late deal before I start getting overly excited!*

* Except.  Reindeer!  Huskies!  Snow!  Fires!  Stars!  Snowy trees!

Back to black

So whilst the sickness has not abated yet, the impressive weight loss has ceased: 1.5lb off last week, 1lb this week.  This is unimpressive given the level of general vomminess I’ve experience (yes, that’s a word.  Look, the language evolves all the time, alright?).  So in summary: huge amounts of weight to lose, high level of vomminess, trickle of weight loss.  Sigh.  It doesn’t help that pretty much all I can stomach at peak vom is bread.  Or toast.  Or a pretzel.  Maybe when I feel a little better, I can ditch all the carbs again and that will have an effect.

In the meantime, we had my father-in-law’s funeral.  It was grim.  My husband’s niece was sobbing before we got in and continued throughout the eulogy she delivered.  In general it was a particularly tearful event.  As is tradition really.  The ‘wake’ bit afterwards was much jollier and P has an enormous family of many cousins who it was nice to see.  I looked like a bag-lady/Duracell battery.  I do not wear black except for at funerals and choir performances and it does not suit me.  I look a mess in general but when you factor in a colour which drains me and scrabbling round for an outfit which ‘will do’ on ebay, I felt like an absolute mess. 

I’m not sure if it was this that has pushed me into my ‘I’m so hideous I shouldn’t be allowed out in public’ phases.  I’m pretty shallow if that’s what I take away from a funeral. 

And in fact that’s not what I’ve taken away:

a)     Get as much out of life as you can, you never know when it’s taken away

b)     Extreme love and anxiety for P

c)      Remembering how much I like some of his family (who mostly clearly think I’m absurdly posh (I’m not) but are generously friendly anyway)

d)     Chose songs people know

e)     And okay, get something better if you have to wear black if you don’t want to feel more like a bag-lady than normal

We had an hilarious moment when the first hymn which my MIL insists on telling me is in the Top 10 of hymns (yes, just think on that for a moment) was clearly known by no-one so everyone just sang at different speeds and to varying tunes.  I could see people trying very hard not to laugh.  P later compared it to the ‘Lovely Horse’ sketch on Father Ted but in fairness, it was less tuneful.  My FIL would have been beside himself with mirth.

It’s my choir’s performance on Saturday and although the music is lovely, we’re woefully under-rehearsed: I’m hoping it’s not going to be Lovely Horse II.

Loss

A colleague told me that I was “looking thin” the other day.  I think we all know that’s not true.  I think she meant that she noticed I’d not been eating – and that therefore I must be thinner.  And I haven’t much.  I assume it’s a reaction to this drug, but I’ve continued to feel sick for most of the day and haven’t eaten lunch at all until yesterday and have skipped some evening meals too. 

I’m not sure whether I’m disappointed or not that I seem to be getting used to the drug now and the side effects are lessening.  Admittedly today I couldn’t stomach my breakfast but yesterday I was hungry for lunch AND dinner for the first time in about 10 days.  Weirdly, it must be psychosomatic as I’m having a half dose at the moment and the nurse said I wouldn’t get the effect of the drug until I’m on the proper dose – that will be either this Monday or next, depending if I’ve got over the side effects by then.  And yet the nausea feels pretty real.  This is not how the drug works btw, this is a common side effect – but it achieves the same end!

This week I’ve lost 4lbs.  That’s double what I lost on LL so is pretty startling.  I’m sure it’s affected by the gain from the previous week but it’s still almost shocking.  I know I can’t maintain that rate of loss  (not eating much isn’t really the healthy thing to do for a start – and I certainly hate feeling sick all the time) and I’m trying not to play the ‘if I lose X every week I could by Y by...’ game. 

But we do have a family wedding in March where I will see my brother and the chav in law for the first time in about 5 years (they were too busy to come to my wedding) and I’d rather give her as little to sneer about as possible.  Equally I’d like to feel as confident as possible.  She will be bright orange, in a tiny dress and bare legged of course.

And we’re hoping to go away in the Spring and it would be lovely to feel a fraction less self-conscious.  The formula for self-consciousness vs weight loss seems very unequal – I have to lose a LOT of weight for a very fractional shift in my self consciousness.  Actually this is largely hypothetical since I haven’t hit enough of a weight loss to make any impact into my self-consciousness yet.  But I’m pretty confident that that’s the case.

Thank you all for your comments about my last rather death-themed post.  My father-in-law died early on Tuesday morning.  The funeral is the week after next.  Characteristically, P is being an absolute rock for his mother – but of course the funeral will be hard.  We’ve cancelled a meal out to celebrate a friend’s birthday with loads of people and although we’ll go along for a quick drink to wish her well, we’ll spend the weekend quietly together.  I wish I knew the best way to help him through this.

Food for thought

 I’m always wary of referring to anything as ‘ironic’ after poor Alanis Morrisette had scorn heaped upon her for not understanding exactly what irony is.  Which is apparently not raaaaiiiiinnnn on your wedding day.  Tsk.

Having said that, there’s some mischievous entity at work in my life at present.  I have started on the injections.  Good news: really not painful.  Bad news: make me feel sick as a dog.  Well, we’ll come to that unfortunate analogy later.  But pretty much nauseous all day.  These are, I hope, side effects that should last no longer than 2-3 weeks but on day 4 that seems a long way off.  As my mother said brightly ‘well, it’s not so bad if it makes you lose weight’.  You can see where I get a twisted view of food from, right?  But no, this is not how it’s supposed to achieve that aim.  I really don’t want to feel so sick I can barely eat until I’m a size 12 (or whatever).  Even if that were possible.  And here comes the irony bit (or whatevs): the only food I can eat is plain and carby.  The advice is even to eat plain carbs if you feel sick.  Carbs are not a great choice for a diabetic (and this is first and foremost a drug for diabetes).  Last night I ate 6 skinny fries from my colleague’s plate for dinner; lunch today is looking like Ritz crackers.  Hmm.  What is a carb-free alternative?  Nausea and chicken breast do not work well together.

Still, after a weekend away, it’s good to have ricocheted to the other end of the spectrum.  Actually it wasn’t too bad in terms of outright gluttony but did cause a 2lb weight gain.  I think.  Having made the momentous move to get back onto Scales of Doom, I really do need to record it somewhere.  The previous week I lost 2.5lbs.  I would hope the weekend gain is long gone after several days of barely eating.  Not very sustainable in the long term, I continue to avow.

The weekend was nice.  It’s just...  Well, we’re going through a rough patch.  Not with each other but with family stuff.  The most serious of which is that my FIL is, to put it bluntly, dying.  The cancer he fought off 4 years ago is back and brought a mate this time.  They’d started treatment for the first tumour (or second I suppose) before they found the other.  The treatment made him feel absolutely terrible and he didn’t want any more; the second tumour made that academic in any case.  He’s at home now and it won’t be long.  He’s a lovely and sweet man and I will be very sorry to lose him which is slightly subsumed by my concern for my husband and how he must be feeling.  He’s been characteristically stoic and brave but has moments where the grief just erupts, understandably.  I hurt to see him so hurt.

And to ice that particular cake, we come back to the ‘sick as a dog ‘analogy.  One of my mother’s Labs has just had to be put down (yes, whilst we were away).  From nowhere SHE got tumours and within 2 days there was nothing else to do.  My mother is distraught and I’m very upset – both from hearing her sobbing and from missing our very sweetest dog myself.

Finally, I visited my grandparents’ grave on the way back from Devon and put some flowers down.  I still miss my grandmother terribly and that was yet another unpleasant reminder of loss.

P and I are agreed that the only thing you can do is wring every moment of pleasure from life.  Balancing hedonism with dieting is not an easy task – well, factoring in 24 hour nausea does balance it a bit, the food and drink part of hedonism seeming unattractive at the moment.  But it’s something to think on.  We’re planning holidays.  Next year.  At the moment we're living from moment to moment, waiting for bad news.

Feeling needled

My extremely sterotypical mad prof has prescribed me a diabetic drug which should/could help me lose weight.  The fact that I AM diabetic is incidental as they think I'm too thin to fit the criteria for it on the NHS.  I bet I'm not actually......  Yep, totally not too thin.  Anyway, I have to pay for it privately - the idea is to try it for a few months and then if it makes a difference, use that as ammunition with my GP.  Not sure it will work since this is the practice that wouldn't give me antibiotics after I'd had sinusitis for 2 months and was weeping with the pain.  They seem to get off on saying 'no'.  But there's no point in worrying about that until I find out if it works.

One immediate flaw with this is that I have to, gulp, inject.  Into my stomach (or thighs).  I don't think they've come up with a needle long enough to penetrate the flab but I had my lesson today (no actual stomach was bared) and I start after a long weekend the weekend after next.  On the basis that it can make you feel sick initially and I don't want to waste that time feeling sick.

And of course, my body's stubborn refusal to drop any weight.

Actually I have just gone to weigh myself for the first time in - oh, some time.  I saw what she wrote in kilos on my form and in trying to work out my BMI (this is the criteria), I thought I must have seen it wrongly.  Or worked it out wrongly.  Or something where it was wrong.  But it's not.  Admittedly this is at the end of the day but I am a stone over my heaviest pre Lighter Life weight.  I can't quite believe it.  That's almost 5 stone heavier than my lightest weight, 2-3 stone heavier then when I got married and heavier than I've ever been.  I'm so shocked and upset I'm actually shaking.  If I'd eaten junk for the last year - and lots of it - I'd understand it.  I haven't.  My usual daily diet is yoghurt and fruit with 2tsp of nuts for breakfast, a salad for lunch, and soup or fish and veg for dinner.  Fruit for snacking and a coffee a day.  Where am I going wrong?

No wonder I can't climb stairs any more without gasping for breath.  I guess the self-loathing will help me to jab the needle in.

The teeny-tiny silver lining is that she thought my BMI wasn't high enough: "I can see from looking at you".  It's way, way high enough.

Checking in

Okay, hands up, I used to run a sneaky blog post off at work.  Believe me they got more than their lb of flesh (regrettably not literally).  But since the new job, I haven't been doing this and blogging has got a lot harder.

The new job btw is going well.  I'd forgotten what it felt like to have people want my advice, listen to it, follow it and appreciate it (professionally speaking) - and it's so liberating!  My work confidence is returning and I cannot work out why I stayed in that awful place for so long.  People continue to leave there in droves btw...

Also, I feel like I'm not achieving anything with the dieting.  I'm sorely tempted to try SW as Linz is doing so AMAZINGLY, brilliantly well.  But... well, it's all the 'eat 5 Muller lites a day' thing.  I don't want to eat chemical rubbish (although I DO want to be slim.  Or slimmer).  I guess I'd try the 'Red Days' as I don't want to be eating a lot of carbs (I save those for booze or cake).

Speaking of which....

Booze: I passed my Advanced Wine Course with a Merit.  I thought I'd failed so was extremely relieved.  I THINK this means I'm now of sommelier status but I may have mis-read. I will probably go on and do the diploma but it's a massive commitment an I need to think carefully about a couple of issues.

Cake: I had a birthday free cake.  Yes, that is a birthday sans cake.  You may take a moment and mourn with me.  We'd ordered some but they were wrongly delivered before we went off for a week away in Suffolk.  And there are no cupcakes to be had in Suffolk.  Not even for ready money.  Instead we went to ITV's Britain's Best Bakery and had an extremely indifferent iced bun.  Not.  The.  Same.  I'm still not over this - can you tell?  The cakes we'd ordered were from our wedding cake maker and sounded delicious.  I can't even re-order as she makes specific flavours each month.  September's (P's birthday month) do not sound nearly as delicious.

We did some long hikes too and I did have birthday blinis and (of course) champage.  But the Asti I got to go with those cakes languishes sadly in the fridge.

Salad Days

Because of trying to eat low-carb, my work lunchtimes are stultifying similar: essentially salad in the summer and soup in the winter.  I don't know why a sandwich seems more interesting and should seem to have more variables but it does.

I tend to eat the same thing until I can stand it no more and I am lacking inspiration to think of new combinations - so I thought I'd ask you.

At the moment I'm eating chicken and avocado - leaves, marinaded chicken, half an avocado and a couple of baby tomatoes with balsamic dressing

Previous choices I'm now sick of:

1) Smoked salmon and prawn with Marie Rose sauce, half an avocado, cucumber and leaves

2) Proscuitto, dolcelatte and fig with leaves and balsamic dressing

Any bright non-carb ideas?  Any soup ideas also welcome!

Today I have a day's leave and am meeting my mum, niece and nephew to do a treasure hunt in the City and a trip on the river bus and cable car.  Should be active and as my brother lives in Cheshire, I don't see them much.

Tomorrow we have an epic hike with friends - including pub lunch.  I had to check with them whether they'd be okay for a 10 miler as last time we took friends hiking, they were so exhausted they fell asleep in their dinner!  Oops.

Clothes line

Do you know, I am actually glad we're not going on holiday this year?  And that is only because of the agonies about clothes.  Much more so if it's somewhere hot where I might have to wear a swimsuit - or look odd.  Or look a damn sight more than odd in a swimsuit of course!

As it is I'm fretting at the back of my mind about dinner in a posh hotel restaurant for P's birthday.  I seem to be treating it like I treat mirrors - I look at it out of the corner of my eye, and yet manage not to see beyond which is necessary.  Although if I don't get on and book it, it won't happen anyway.  A couple of years ago we went there and I wore a navy lace pencil skirt and a satin belted kimono jacket and actually felt pretty good: I was at least 2 sizes smaller.  My pencil skirt days are behind me literally and metaphorically.

We've been doing lots of hiking - in fact so much that I struggle to stay awake on Saturday evenings. I'm also trying to do one or two long walks during the week.  Does this help?  Who knows.  I suppose it gives me the illusion of trying but I don't think I'm any slimmer.

Still putting some effort in to food - I manage a healthy, low-carb breakfast, lunch and dinner but I'm eating too much fruit and too many snacks.  The odd bag of crips (even lower calorie ones) DOES count and I need to stop that.  I seem to be hungry a lot at the moment and I don't know why.  Mind you, there's an unopen bag of nuts on my desk that I could eat instead of Wotsits and must.  They'd fill me up too.  It's just they're so..... worthy.  No matter.  I pledge: no more crisps.

Clothes maketh the woman

I met with two friends for a drink and something light to eat tonight.  No biggie, right?  (No pun intended...)  Except we went to a hip members' club in hip Hoxton.  I'm surprised they let me in - and I wouldn't be surprised if they terminate my friend's membership as a result!

I am the antithesis of hip.  I'm kinda frumpy really.  That's not exactly a style choice, but it how it all ends up.  I felt acutely uncomfortable all night.

I texted one friend to say that I'd have to buy an outfit if we were to do that again - but it's really like the pig's proverbial lipstick, ie inconsequential to the overall effect.

I am sure it was supposed to be a treat and I feel mean that I hated it so much.

And I wish I could get a makeover.  Is there a way or an outfit that could make me look okay whilst I (over)fill it in the way I do?  I don't think so.  I don't mean a makeover, do I?  I essentially mean the whole magic wand bit - and actually even the Fairy Godmother had decent base material to work with!  Hmm, as ever, I seem to be left hoping for a miracle!

Of floracide and other things

In the long slow tarting up of our flat, we have cleared our small balcony and I have re-planted the planters.  Sounds simple but I have the opposite of a green finger - probably a black one.  All plants in my care die.  It's been less than a week and the violas are looking sickly, the lavender shows signs of queasiness and only the cosmos looks okay.  And even then, some of the leaves are dying.  P helpfully suggested plastic flowers.  No.  Obv.  I think I have to have temporary flowers and keep replanting and slaughtering fresh victims.

What I really need to do is sort out my clothes.  I have a LOT of clothes - and yet I reckon only about 2% actually fit me.  I have some nice things, surprisingly.  Surprising because I pretty much buy everything from ebay.  It seems pointless spending money on clothes - firstly because I am ever hopeful that I will lose weight (HA!) and secondly because, well, lipstick on a pig.  If I ever get back in my 16s, I will have a whole wardrobe.

This weekend we have guests coming.  Conservative eating guests.  We're doing Italian as I know they like that (they don't like Thai!  Who doesn't like Thai?!).  Antipasti including homemade caponata, meatball lasagne with tricolore salad and tiramisu (because P loves it and I hardly ever make it).  Almost embarrassingly easy.  I had a stern injunction not to put too much pressure on myself and because time will be tight, I have heeded it.  But I still feel almost furtive about the lack of finesse and effort (look away Seren!  This is not the calibre of food of chez Seren)

And now, on to an update.  Firstly, thank you all for your comments - I appreciated every one and it made me feel less alone to an extent I can't properly exress.  I think the main things that I will take away from them is 1) Amy and I should clearly swop husbands (although 2 clingy people in one marriage might be a recipe for disaster), 2) Yes to the flouncing - but the circumstances have to be right.  We talked about his behaviour and he took responsibility for being horrible.  I didn't talk about my feeling that he doesn't love me; I am pretty sure he thinks he does and it would be pretty patronising to insist otherwise.  In fact, he said he did and he said he couldn't understand why I needed to be kept being told I was a 'worthwhile' person when I so clearly was.  This is quite effusive for him.

An explanation

I just read Gabby's comment (thanks Gabby) and I feel awful.  Maybe I have not been fair in the way I portray P.

If you were to meet him, you'd like him.  Everyone likes him - he has charisma and seems very laid back and genial.  He's a great reconteur.  He is funny, quirky and clever and he has real creativity.  The other day he noticed it was Independence Day and we were home - he suggested having an American themed evening and we had US food and wine and watched an American film.  Above all, he is fun!

He isn't particularly laid back fundamentally, but I guess most people are different privately.  He has a low tolerance level for idiocy - and I do irritate him.  He's extremely self-contained - unless I make the move after an argument he would be quite capable of withdrawing and withdrawing until we became strangers.  I am sure that if I left, he would not try to stop me or even look back.

I don't think he values me - and most of this is about how awful I look.  And I have to be fair - I loathe the way I look, why would I expect him to feel otherwise?  I can't meet my own eye in the mirror, how can I expect him to meet my eye?  How can I expect someone to see a value in me that I do not think is there myself?

He can't remember today what he said last night - and I can't forget.

Love - whatever that is

I write for many reasons - this is catharsis.  Maybe it's self-indulgent, but unless I draw the poison I sometimes think I'll go mad.  No-one needs to read this sort of thing.

My name - my real name - means beloved.  But I never have been.  The only person I knew truly loved me was my late grandmother.  My father couldn't stand me - from an early age, I knew this.  It's okay, he's not a nice man and I can do without him.  My mother sees everything through the prism of herself - she's not capable of standing outside that.

My husband doesn't love me.

He would say he does - and I'm not going to illuminate him - but I know he doesn't.  I watch, you see, how men treat the women they love.  He barely meets my eye, he is very rarely affectionate and the main emotion I evoke in him is irritatation.

Don't get me wrong - when things are bad in other areas of my life, he's a rock.  He gets irritated by the way I handle things but he'll help me battle through things.  But I can no longer pretend that things are okay when I feel this unhappy.

Tonight is a great example - not dramatic but typical.  He was out last night and didn't arrive back until late; this disturbs my sleep, and whilst I do not resent this at all, I was tired today.  Actually I look forward to it because if he is going to be affectionate, it's when he's had a bit to drink - and I like that.  We were both having our hair cut but rather than going home, he went to meet a friend in the pub and said to come and join them.  I would rather have gone home but I was pleased to be asked.  All was well until the end of the evening.  They wanted to go to the pub after dinner, we went in and P's friend bumped into someone he knew.  P and I waited at the end of the bar for him.  I tried to steal a moment for the two of us and attempted to meet his eye and snuggle in to him.  This was rebuffed - because, I was told, he did not like the beer.  He later said this was "needy".  We left; I tried to take his hand and was told no, he needed the loo.  We found a loo and I fumbled for some change - this was described as controlling.  He came out of the loo and flicked water at me - and took my arm and wiped his wet hand on it.  I said "don't do that" and he walked off without a backwards glance.  He often does walk on and doesn't look back but this was pointed in the extreme.  When I caught him up I was told I had caused him to miss the train (a delay of 3 mins) and told to apologise for hurting his feelings when he went to take my arm.  I got a series of comments all the way home about not doing "what a normal person would do", how I am inept at relationships, how I do not know how to be part of a team, I have to have everything explained to me like a child and so on.  I did apologise and tried to explain how I felt from his actions but this was dismissed.  I tried to ask whether it was worth it to cause such an upset.  I was told I'd spoilt a pleasant evening.

As I say, this is not unusual.  I work pretty hard not to cause any kind of upset but inevitably these things happen - I reckon every 2-3 weeks.  He always says it's my fault, I always get the "not normal", that I am controlling and a doormat and that I think the world revolves about me.  Of these, I would say only the doormat accusation is valid.

I do not handle confrontation well.  It feels as though my stomach is beating hard in my heart, my mouth goes dry and I think I might be sick.  I kind of hope I am sick as it would maybe purge the overwhelming feelings of desperation and unhappiness.  In reality I know he'll be fine tomorrow - it will have passed for him.  He's aleep now but my heart is still beating too fast and I feel very unhappy.  I cannot sleep and I do not know what to do with myself except this.

I don't think this is love.  I'm not going to tell him he doesn't love me because a) it sounds arrogant and b) I don't really want him to realise this and leave.  I know he doesn't find me attractive - and in this, I cannot blame him.  I cannot blame him, but he's put on a lot of weight and to me, he's still him.  But I think, no I pretty much know, that if I were more attractive, things would be better between us.  I think he would look at me, meet my gaze, be less dismissive and contemptuous. I know I have integrity and I'm kind but I also know that this is not enough - not for him, perhaps not for anyone.  Fundamentally I fear I am unloveable but I would like to somehow get him to fall in love with me;  I just don't know how.

Aye, an' there's the rub

As I have documente before - with more candour than sense maybe - I am occasionally afflicted with 'chub rub'.  Oh yes, I have all the glamour.

So I bought a pair of anti-chub rub things - a little like cycling shorts (and yes, I'm aware of the irony) crossed with some sort of surgical bandaging -  that you wear under skirts.  They are grim things indeed; souless, joyless and aggressively ugly.  Now, I don't need to be told of my singular lack of physical charms.  Indeed, I would rather not be reminded on a daily basis (other than in reflective surfaces which I shun like a vampire afraid of betrayal).  So I decided to try something called bandelettes.  They look a bit like the top of hold ups, without actually holding anything up - lacy bands.  They're reasonably attractive - possibly not so much that I'd wear them sticking out of a pair of short shorts, like in their advertising.  But then, if I could wear short shorts, we wouldn't be here in the first place.  You measure your thigh and order from a company called Mish - who, I must say were super-quick with delivery.  They come in black, white and nude and I ordered nude - although anyone who has met me will know that nude on me is almost certainly white.

Today was the inaugral wearing.  I tried them on yesterday and they felt pretty good - snug without being like a tourniquet or that weird thing the guy wears round his thigh in Angels and Demons.  Airy too - which after surgical bandage/cycle shorts, was rather nice even if I did keep nervously checking my skirt was still in situ.  They do roll down a bit at the back on one side - presumably like everyone has one breast slightly larger than the other, there is also a larger buttock.  Or that may just be me.  I was a bit anxious about walking/walking upstairs but a commute and a short trip out at lunchtime and they were still in place.  All was well until in the middle of Victoria station the left one started to descend.  The more I tried to surreptiously tug at it, the more it tried to roll up.  I shuffled into W H Smiths and hid in a corner, trying adjust them.  At which point, it rolled decisively up into a band, shot down my leg and pinged off across the shop floor.  I fielded it with a speed that any professional baseball player would envy and shot out of the shop.  Now, of course, I had lace on one side and naked, unconfined flesh on the other - a recipe for rubbing if ever I heard one.

I put them back on for a trip to Homebase (on the basis that no-one would turn a hair if they pinged off in synchronicity) and they stayed on so it's possible that I had not adjusted them properly.  Tomorrow I will try again.  It's equally possible that they will choose the most inopportune time to go free-range then.  It's anyone's guess.  But faint heart never won fair, unblemished thigh.

Spinning around

Well, it's been a crazy couple of weeks.  I cannot recommend ending a job, starting a new one and sitting an exam all in the space of a week.  But that, dear Reader, is what I did.

I am not sorry to say goodbye to the old job.  I loved the subject matter but the department I worked in was - as I said in my exit interview - a blame culture that de-skilled, demotivated and disempowered anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves there.  I did not make the traditional tearful speech saying how much I'd miss the place.  I'll miss the subject matter and some of my colleagues but in all truthfulness, I felt utter glee at having escaped.

The people seem very nice in the new job.  It's a bit quiet for me but I'm dying to get my teeth stuck in to some of the bigger projects and that should happen soon.  In the meantime I'm trying not to boss my less experienced colleague about but to inject a bit of dynamism and proactivity.  AND they have clean loos, windows and bins - an enormous improvement on the old place.

The exam was ridiculously tough.  I worked really hard but I don't think it was enough.  Time will tell.  I learnt a lot - much more than the level down - so I need to keep that in my goldfish brain.  Especially as I may have to re-sit.

I'm now trying to get a grip on my diet again.  Too many carbs were creeping in - it's exhausting constantly avoiding them and they are everywhere and so, so easy.  I bought a spiralizer to make courgette spaghetti as a weapon in my arsenal - and am delighted with it!  It came with "instructions" so cryptic that you'd have to be of Bletchley Park standard to work out, but a pleasant annoyingly glowy and thin American lady on youtube set me straight in a jiffy.  If that is what spiralizing does to you, it was worth every penny.  Tonight will be courgette spaghetti with pesto, sundried tomato and cheese - delicious!  And making the ribbons is an absurd amount of fun.

I also bought a keyboard for my ipad and that, dear Reader, means I can start posting regularly again. I am hoping these two purchases will make a big difference and help me shed some lardage pdq.  I still feel pretty wretched about myself and I look dreadful - clothes just don't work.  Although far better than the alternative for those who don't want the therapy that that would involve. And though I still have to clear out my wardrobe, even doing a little of this reveals how many actually quite nice clothes I have - and how very few of them actually fit me.  I have clothes for the next three dress sizes down - I just need to move in that direction.

On which note: I sit next to a slim sugar fiend.  Not only is this sickeningly annoying but also a challenge.  I have to keep thinking of those clothes and how I feel now and resist the percy pigs (do they actually put crack in those things??!), fruit pastilles etc etc etc

The Great Escape

I am an arrant coward.  After a loss last time, I can’t bear to stand on SoD again.  I steeled myself to do it this morning – because I knew I needed to post.  And I forgot.  I really did but even I can see that that looks distinctly subconsciously deliberate.  I’m not sure when I can screw my courage up again.  Maybe next week (yes, that will be a fortnight.  Or possibly even 3 weeks).
 
On the plus side, I have found a new job.  It is only maternity cover (Amy: this is to cover whilst the incumbent goes off and has her baby – she can take up to a year) and I’m not sure what will happen after that.  Worst case scenario is that I have to find another job in a year’s time.  It was supposed to be a secondment but of course, my lovely employers wouldn’t release me.  So I quit.
 
Work has been beyond hideous (as you know, dear Reader) so it’s good to know I’m going to escape.  It’s just a festering poisonous place of unpleasantness.  I’m amazed to hear that people outside our section can see this but I’ve had a few comments to that effect.  I suppose the fact that our staff turnover is so horrendous is a clue.  Not a clue recognised by our own senior managers but still.
 
I’m dreading my last day – there’s usually a bit of a speech made and I don’t think my boss is going to want to say nice things about me.  He acknowledges I’m good at my job but apparently this is not enough.  Funnily enough, he is not good at his job but IS very good at the corporate brown-nosing.  He’ll doubtless go far.
 
I think I’m not being as strict with carbs as I should be – everything has been so crazy I simply haven’t had the energy and time to think about each food choice.  I am aware that sounds like an excuse but it’s actually true.  I need to get back on top of this – and maybe then I wouldn’t fear the SoD so much.  Oh who am I kidding….!

Dog days

I should never, NEVER, say things are going to get better soon.

Work is....well, it's hit a new low.  By the end of the day I am exhausted by maintaining a bright, professional 'game face' and metaphorically blooded from a thousand cuts.  I can see us ending up in a tribunal because I WILL NOT allow them to bully me.  We'll see - there is one or maybe two stages before that.  By the time I get home I'm exhausted as all the adrenaline leaves me and I just want to slump and cry.  It's not good.  The other night I couldn't be bothered to eat - dinner was two glasses of (indifferent) wine.  P has been a ROCK.  He meets me for a swift coffee most lunchtimes, just so I can see a friendly face.  My colleagues are fine btw - it's t'management - so it's not as if I'm sat there in a sea of hostility, that would be unbearable.

Still, the bank holiday weekend will be a blessed relief.  But I really need to find a new job - and I'm trying.  I've even applied for a maternity cover and would give up my (toxic) full-time job with no certainty of the cover extending beyond 9 months.  And that's if I were to get it. 

In other news: we are dog-sitting.  We have a chocolate lab for 3 weeks whilst my mum is in Singapore visiting my brother and the chav-in-law.  Lily (the lab) is having an intense love affair with P.  As I type, she's lying outside the bathroom, waiting for him to come out of the shower.  She follows him around and sits by him, gazing up at him.  This is v cute; her waking us at 5am or 5.30am is not.

It's not helping that I'm not sleeping.  I lie in bed and it feels like misery literally pulses through my body.  It's mainly about the way I look but work is now crowding in too.  I do get to sleep but I'm getting 4-6 hours and I'm an 8+ hours girl.  It makes things harder.  But I usually sleep well in Suffolk - the clean, sea air I think - so am hoping, if Lily lets me, of doing some catching up this weekend. 

The silver linig of the week is the best WI I've had in - well this year I think - I'm now Repulsive.5 3/4lbs so that's about 2 1/2lbs off I think.  It doesn't make me feel any better about how I look - I think it's going to take a couple of stone before that - but it doesn't make me feel worse.  And frankly that's an absolute blessing.  If I could be sure that I'd move steadily in that direction I would feel less dreadful about it but past experience suggests I really would be very foolish indeed to hope.

Another good week...

Which ought to mean a decent result on SoD - but of course not really.  From official WI I put on 1lb - from unofficial WI I lost 1lb.  It's a bit confusing.  Anyway, I'm now Repulsive.8 1/2 lbs.  Really, who knows what's going on.  I think we can assume another cold winter though - I don't see me losing 2 1/2stones by then, which is what I need to do to get in my coat.

And 2 stone would make such a difference - like fitting in some of my summer clothes for a start.  I have some nice cotton and linen shirts which I'd love to wear with jeans at the weekend but they're just too small.  Everyday is another panic about what to wear.

Little else to say really.  I'm still feeling pretty wretched but I do thank you for your kind comments, it does help not to feel quite so alone with this.  Work is also being even more of a nightmare than usual.  P is really helping with this but I so need to get out - it's just toxic.  I applied for a couple of things this week but we'll see.  Things have to get better soon.

Blimp blip

I’ve not been feeling well for a while and skipped eating a few times so hoped for this to be reflected on SoD on Wednesday WI: I had put on 1 ¼lb – taking me to Repulsive.7 ½ lbs.  I’ve – obv – been fretting about this ever since so decided to WI again today to reassure myself that it was just a blip: yes it was, I’m now Repulsive.9 ½ lbs.
 
Now, I understand why a few of you take issue with my verbal descriptions of the stone brackets – in your place, I’d probably say the same.  But the fact is that this is pretty much the only space I can be honest in.  Admittedly I don’t talk about my weight to anyone in the ‘real’ world (although I am sure they’ve noticed that I’m the size of a Barrett starter home) – I even avoid talking to my husband about it.  But if he did ask, I feel obliged to be positive – the ‘slow progress but learning all the time’ line which is, let’s be honest, a lie.

The fact is that I feel beyond repulsive – I feel so much more repellent than that.  All the way to the core (through all those layers of flab).  There is no word for how I feel and it’s only getting worse.  I am tired of the subterfuge and the pretence that one day it will all suddenly fall into place and I’ll lose weight steadily like a ‘normal’ person.  I’m tired of saying it’s all okay, that next week will be different, that I have good qualities (because, frankly, if you pushed me, I couldn’t name one).
 
I’m tired full stop.  All I want to do is read – which is a double edged sword in that I forget how much I loathe myself and can escape to another world (good) but all the female protagonists have one thing in common: they’re good looking and this is essentially what leads to their happy-ever-after.  Or sleep – because if I’m unconscious I don’t know what I look like or feel the pain that that brings.  Perhaps I could do a Sleeping Ugly and wake up in 100 years - surely not eating for 100 years would make me slimmer?

So I AM (at the very least) Repulsive – nudging upwards to…. I’m not sure what but clearly will have to get my thinking cap on – and will I ever move down to hit the Obese bracket?  It seems increasingly unlikely.

WTF WIs

There were carbs over Easter.  Especially – in fact exclusively – hot cross buns.  So I was worrying about getting on SoD.  Admittedly, I always get worried about getting on SoD.  I tried to rationalise it away today and justify delaying WI to Friday.  But I was working overnight on that Thursday which means typing furiously and non-stop from 6-9am which makes the whole WI thing difficult.  I usually weigh first thing but ‘forgot’ until I was in the shower.  Cue intense internal dialogue about how this might affect the result:

Well, the extra water might make me heavier

But then I’ve washed dirt off* so that might make me lighter

Even I have sufficient self-awareness that I realised I was prevaricating.  I got on the sodding SoD: Repulsive.9 ¼ lbs.  That’s ¼lb off.  It was a blip, clearly but I’ll take it. 

 

It might explain why this week's WI had me staying the same after a pretty damn good week.   Still Repulsive.9 ¼ lbs.  Running to stand still?  (No, NOT literally!  Forget the couch to 5k thing!)

 

Not sure where the next WI will take me but I've had some kind of virus which, aside from making me pathetically weak and with a splitting headache, makes me feel nauseous in the evenings - so I've not eaten a lot.  Mind you, a couple of meals have been toast.  Not good on the carb front - what DO you eat that's bland and comforting but not carbs?  I can't work it out anyway.

 

I'm hoping to get out for a proper hike on Sunday - I need to feel better for the weekend, surely?  And hurrah for three day weekends (even if I don't finish work until Saturday morning)!

 

 

 

* I am not that dirty, promise

 

Running scared

No, no, NO!  I need to start by clarifying – I am not intending to do the Couch to 5k programme.  And this is because I already did this for a year (and started it again maybe a year after that).  Probably only Lesley will remember this but I really did give it my best shot and I did persevere and I HATED it.  Which would have been okay if it had made me lose weight: Reader, it did not.
 
No, my exercise is mainly about walking these days – I try to incorporate as much as possible into my working week and then P and I go hiking most weekends or days off.  I don’t suppose it will achieve much but as it’s not painful – indeed, I really enjoy it most of the time (getting us lost miles and miles from the car apart!) so I don’t resent the time spent on it.
 
So, I think I need to come up with some sort of way of recording my weight: I DID get on SoD today (which I think was extraordinarily brave btw) and I either stayed the same or put a little bit on.  So, I’m going to revert to my impossible-to-penetrate code system of a few years ago and name my stone brackets:  I am currently Repulsive.9 1/2 .  The next stone brackets in a downward direction (I cannot bear to go the other way) will be:
Obese
Very Fat
Fat
Chubby
Plump
Normal

Obviously I’d like to be in the Normal bracket (the one under that would be Slim.  I’m really not that much of a dreamer to imagine I would ever, could ever get there) but to be honest, Plump would be fine.  Hell, Chubby would be fine.  Or, you know, any downward trajectory.

 
I think that I need to have made serious inroads into the Fat bracket to get into my winter coat before the chilly Autumn weather returns.  That’s a lot of lardage.  Into which I’m making little headroom. 
 
It could, of course, have been worse.  I could have put more on.  We do have a meal out this weekend but mostly it’s looking like a pretty clear week – let’s see if SoD can grant me a loss this week.
 
In other news: I didn’t get shortlisted for a job I really wanted.  There’s a long story here that explains my level of disappointment which I will not try your patience with, dear Reader, but it’s obviously compounded by the extremely unpleasant environment I’m increasingly desperate to escape.  And on top of feeling so low (for which read: fat) it was all a bit much.  I am very resilient and I will bounce back but things feel a bit bleak at the moment.
 
Which brings me on to telling the psychologist that I didn’t think it was worth continuing.  It was an awful session – firstly because we went over how I feel about my weight and appearance which is very hard and painful for me anyway.  And then she said she’d felt she’d failed and I was overwhelmed with guilt.  I was so upset that I had to practically sprint from her office and my legs still feel like jelly. 
 
Still, a four day weekend is just the tonic for most ills.  We may only manage one hike but it’s going to be a good one (fingers crossed for good weather) and there’s the whole four days off thing again which is pretty damn amazing. 

Cry fowl

I'm back - back at work and back on the blog.  Things are still tough but I'm trying to capture a bit of a 'new term' vibe.

I haven't weighed myself since my last post, dear Reader.  I've been feeling so bad about myself that I was just too chicken to face the malevolent SoD - I do not share Seren's optimism that it will treat me anything but cruelly.  I have to do it - I know I do.  I've earmarked Wednesday for The Deed but I feel no sense of determination or resolve.  As Caroline pointed out, it's tough to lose weight when you've had three meals out, no matter how sensible (Mothers' Day - grrr).   And Hazel: damnit, that weigh in was PRE those meals.  Shiver, quake, cluck, cluck, cluck...

But thank you all for all your comments - it's really heartening to know that on pretty much the only place I feel I can 'speak' that I can get support and advice.  I actually find it incredibly difficult to talk about my feelings in real life - if bottling things up ever were to become an Olympic sport, I would be supreme champion - so this outlet is extremely important to my vestiges of sanity.

I've worked really hard on the decorating - and no sooner did the achiness from that ease than I got us lost on a moderate hike which then turned into a mammoth hike, just to get back to the car.  I always feel I ought to get more of a SoD acknowledgement of exercise.  I don't really understand why it doesn't work for me, Gabby.  When I did LL and was thus surviving on 550 cals of artifically flavoured dust a day, I was running (or at least, doing the couch potato to 5k plan) and it made NOT A JOT of difference.  Ditto when I've been a gym bunny. 

I pretty much have to stick with the low-carbing thing, Lisa, because of the diabetes thing and it is noticeable how it smooths out my blood sugar levels.  But I think I need to cut it to the bone, as Stephanie and Amy have alluded to - maybe I'm somehow mis-managing it with the odd (carefully chosen but nonetheless) pudding.  I think this is one of the reasons I'm afraid to approach SoD as I've eased up on the carb restrictions whilst we've been decorating: I've told myself that I was doing physically enough that the carbs would be burnt straight away but as Amy, Hazel and Stephanie have hinted at, it's easy to deceive yourself or just honestly make a mistake.  Constant vigilance, as Madeye Moody would say.  Although possibly not about dieting.

I'm actually thinking about stopping seeing the psychologist.  She's very nice but I find it very hard to talk anyway and work are not happy about me coming in an hour late once a fortnight (no matter that I work over my hours pretty much every day).  Also, although it's interesting and has been a bit helpful to discuss my dysfunctional childhood, the elephant in the room is me and I how I feel about my weight.  I've talked about it (well, sobbed, really) but she can't make me slim and she can't make me feel anything but very unhappy about the way I look - so really, what's the point?  Rhetorical question there.

The bitterest pill

So, I wish it were that my pills were preventing me from losing weight – I really do.  Unfortunately, as ever, it’s my hateful body.  There’s a small body of thought that the pills might make it easier to lose weight but most of the thinking is that they have no impact.  Not even the paranoid world of the internet seems to summon up a single person that thinks that it causes its victim to put weight on.
 
So, no, all my own work.
 
But thank you everyone for the words of support and suggestions – its means more than you can ever know.  I don’t talk to anyone about this – not a soul – and this is my only outlet.  I sometimes think I would go mad if I internalised it any more than I do.

I have been seeing this psychologist but she’s really there to help me stop doing things that make me put on weight.  Since that seems to essentially be existing and breathing, I’m not sure she can help.  She can’t help me lose weight and she can’t make me reconciled to that (let alone anything more positive), I am going to suggest we call it quits.  As it is, I am an hour late into work once every fortnight – which is not viewed with any degree of acceptance – and she comes into work 45mins early to fit me in.  So it’s a lot of pain for no gain.  Unless it’s of the lard variety.
 
Last Friday I lost 1lb and something.  Could have been 1.25lbs or 1.75lbs, can’t really remember.  I have to find some way to actually document this somewhere where it will never, never be seen.  I think that makes my net loss for the month something under a lb – possibly a 1/4 .  I know it’s better than nothing – but only a few ounces.  Literally.
 
This weekend, three meals out led to two puddings (but otherwise okay choices), one of which was worth it, one of which wasn't and I left about a quarter of each.  I ought to be able to take a moment to be proud that I was able to employ some willpower but of course, I’m dreading the – likely – savage judgement of SoD.
 
By Friday however, I will have done a day of painting –will that help do you think?  We have taken off a week and a half to paint the entire flat (walls, woodwork and ceilings) prior to long overdue flooring arriving.  All of which was precipitated by two leaks, one at either end of the flat.  (Surely all painting two bedrooms, two halls, two bathrooms and a living room ought to burn some flab?)  It will be good to get it done but it will stop us going on holiday this year (sudden lottery win apart).  The upside of THAT of course is that I won’t have the I’m-too-fat-and-I- have-nothing-to-wear pre-holiday panic.  Although that pretty much is my life at the moment.

The only way is up. Apparently.

So this is why I shunned SoD for so long.  I've been anxious about weigh in day for the last couple of days - but I'd had a good week, I was well overdue seeing my efforts rewarded by SoD.  It should all be good, right?  I had to stop being neurotic and trust that doing the right thing would end in the right place, right?  Keep.  The.  Faith

Wrong.  I put on 1 1/2lbs.  I am now at a new all-time high (weight).  When I talk about Fresh Fat, I mean putting it on, whereas most dieting blogs refer to getting rid of it. 

That is the sort of high that makes me feel low.  I really feel very unhappy.  I don't know what to do, I can only tweak because of the diabetes - no new seductive possible diet that might, just might, oh please might, help me shed some of this blubber.  Not, admittedly, that it ever has.

It's odd how getting bigger makes me feel smaller.  It's as if as my girth increases, something in me gets smaller and sadder.  Which is doubly ironic as I have the jeans of pain on today - not sure if it's some psychological need to punish myself since they hurt when I was almost 4lbs smaller (small obv being a relative term) so you can imagine...

As Seren says, all I can do is keep on keeping on.  I'm just very scared as to where I will end up, emotionally and physically.

Jean libels

This is why I hate SoD.  I hoped for 3lbs loss this week – my inexplicable 2lbs gain from last week and another.  It seemed a fair target – not too ambitious – given a good week and a mammoth walk last weekend.  Well, my loss does have a 3 in it but that would be a loss of ¾ lb.  It’s heart-breaking.  I know it shouldn’t be and I should get some perspective but it is and I can’t.
 
I may have maligned the jeans.  My bruises are fading although I am (clearly) not diminishing.  Admittedly I don’t wear them much but I think it wasn’t them.  Okay, they compressed me painfully and fiercely but I think the bruises were from trying to negotiate around a solid sleigh bed, approximately 4” from the wall.  This is a width restriction I was clearly never going to achieve but shoved my way through in any case.
 
I would ordinarily now have boasted about my great week.  How conscientious I’ve been, how dedicated to The Great De-blimp.  How my goal is 3 ½ stone by mid October (with an eye to getting into my winter coat this year).  But now – thanks be to SoD – I can’t.  So, that’s that.
 
Other greatness has not happened this week.  Work is grim.  And hard.  And thankless.  There are two jobs I’m applying for – one is decidedly a long shot.  I’ve been here before (metaphorically) and yet I’m still here (literally).  We have sprung two leaks in our flat – at either extreme.  The flooring will definitely have to come up and there’s a real chance that the walls will have to be knocked into (what idiot puts pipes IN a wall?).  The bright spot of this week has been starting my Level 3 wine course.  The people weren’t terribly friendly and the exam sounds terrifying but I think I’m going to learn a LOT.
 
Signing out, damp and fat but looking forward to a sunny weekend with NO WORK.

Of literal and metaphorical bruises

I can’t believe I’ve been SO STUPID.  How can I POSSIBLY have allowed myself to hope that this time around was going to be any different?  Even after all evidence and history pointing to the impossibility of this?  Despite being really restrained on our weekend away, despite two hikes, one of which was extraordinarily tough, I put the whole 2lbs back on.  I thought I might lose a solitary lb; of course I hoped for more but I thought that was probably realistic.  And this is the worst thing about SoD – it wrecks my day, my week.  I feel so dispirited and so STUPID for thinking things might ever be any different for me.  It’s amazing how insidious hope is – even if you try and shut it out, it winkles its way back in.  Only to trip you up and leave you flat on your face, battered, bruised and humiliated.
 
Talking of bruises…. (and yes, my abdomen is still purple and yellow) I have the self-harm jeans on today.  I think they look better.  I think they do…. So I thought I’d wear them for dress down day.  I may live to regret this decision.  I may not live to regret it.  Actually, I may already be regretting it.  I’ve promised myself that I will wear my comfier (if alas, slightly too short) bootlegs over the weekend – on Sunday I’m working and on Saturday we’re just going to walk along the Thames for a few miles to enjoy the predicted good weather so I’ll just be in Converse (thus hopefully keeping my hem a little close to the ground).  I might have a fresh crop of bruises after my reckless behaviour today so it will give them some healing time!

Yorkshire Terror

 Well, that was quite a weekend.
 
Let’s start with the ups.  We saw friends (and their absolutely gorgeous chocolate Labrador), Yorkshire was liberally festooned with snowdrops (I don’t think I have ever seen that many), we had some lovely food, I resisted puddings an epic 3.5 times out of 5, I ate very, very sensibly overall and avoided carbs as much as poss, I still ache from one of the hikes which must have meant it did me loads of good, we had access to several roaring fires.
 
On the downs – the owner of the place we stayed at was epically unpleasant when we pointed out they’d undercharged us for the bill; they were happy for us to pay it but didn’t feel this merited a simple thank you or apology for the inconvenience.  It rather spoilt the whole weekend. 
 
Also – and this is probably the only place I can confess this – I bought new jeans. [A moment is inserted here where we can all go ‘ohhhhh’ in mutual pain.]  It should have been easy – I bought the same style as the ones I’d recently trashed and the same brand etc as my bootlegs except they were straight legged and a bit longer (the horror: I recently came to the unwelcome conclusion that my jeans are just that fraction too short.  So. Unflattering).  I digress but this should have been relatively simple, right?  Wrong.  They felt tight when I put them on but they have 2-3% of stretch so I thought they’d give - I'd even read advice that said you should buy them tight as they give.  Um.  I got more and more uncomfortable on Friday and by the time I took them off at c1.30am I really did feel some pain.  Well, a couple of days later when being tortured by bath (more of which later) I noticed some absolutely corking bruises across my abdomen.  I don’t bruise easily and I can’t remember the last time I saw anything like it.  And I really do think that it was my jeans.  I’m actually scared of them now.  And I'm still green, black and yellow.
 
Before we go to the bath of torture, let me tell you about the hike of horror.  It started off beautifully – gorgeous day, lovely path.  We went through a beautiful village and onto a path described as “undulating”.  Well, it wasn’t the undulations that were the problem.  This path was like a goat path – ie v narrow and essentially on the edge of a ravine.  At the bottom of which was mostly a river.  The path was thick with mud.  Deep, sticky, slidey mud.  For about 2 miles we teetered along this path, grabbing hold of trees, rocks, anything to try and stop slipping over the edge.  It was exhausting (and filthy) – my legs burnt and then they just went numb and rubbery.  The relief when we finally emerged a tense and very long hour and a half later!  Short lived relief because then we had to climb a massive hill and I had legs of rubber to take me up.  I ache round my waist, as well as the tops of my arms and all of my legs – two days later.  It surely – if there’s any fairness in the world – must have burnt at least a gazillion calories?  Hmm, let's see what SoD makes of that on Friday.
 
Ah yes, then I decided to have a hot bath.  I’m more of a shower girl but as my legs had pretty much gone on strike and to try to prevent total seizing up, I decided to have a hot bath.  I don’t know which sadist (and indeed masochist) put it about that a hot bath was a great thing but if I find them, I’ll boil them alive.  Assuming I can catch them.  Youch.  I sat in there.  I tried to lie in there.  I tried to relax and unknot my muscles (or what passes as muscles).  I gritted my teeth – I must stay in for 20 mins.  I couldn’t make it and got out after about 12 mins.  My heart was galloping, I thought I was going to throw up or pass out.  Or indeed both.  It took the best part of an hour and a half for my heart rate to return to normal.  Never again.
 
Slippery ravines and baths of torture apart, I’d like to go back to Yorkshire.  But I’ll be staying somewhere else next time.  Seren: what’s the Star like to stay at?

In the pink

So much for my resolution to post twice a week.  This week and next are likely to be one-post weeks - because we're going away!  A long weekend in Yorkshire beckons.  Great news for everything except my diet.

I decided to weigh today - rather than tomorrow which would have been a week - because I was visiting a friend and new baby today and I knew there would be cake.  With the exception of two (delicious) cocktails I have had a sensible - verging on austere - week and I didn't want the cake to marr that.  2lbs off.  That's pretty damn decent for me.  And it's not the first week (when I didn't weigh) so hopefully it's not a one-off blip.  I can't help but do the numbers (you know, if I lose x a week then by y I'll be...).  I tried to look at the bigger (forgive the pun) picture and just say, okay, I want to be back in my beloved tweed coat by October: I fear this means 3 1/2 stone though and I fear even more that this may be too big (there it is again) an ask.

Talking of blips (or indeed blimps).  I'm going to make the best choices I can whilst we're away but it's clearly not going to be the same as eating salads at home (if it is, we're doing something wrong).  I intend to choose the most carb-free foods I can (I won't be diving headfirst into a vat of pasta for instance) but I'm anticipating more wine than usual. 

Tomorrow night we're staying with friends of P who are great drinkers - I won't (and can't!) try and keep pace but even so, it's likely to be a bit over what I'd normally drink.  Then we're off for three nights in a pub - chosen for its links to P's beloved meat supplier in London (The Ginger Pig.  No that's the butcher, not me but I'm very much alive to the amusing double meaning, thank you).  At least it's not Italian!  Food choices ought not to be too difficult.  There may be the occasional pudding but, thank the lord, I'm so fussy about pudding that more often than not I don't see anything I fancy.

We hope to do a bit of walking too.  Probably better for the soul than the waistline but a fringe benefit is a fringe benefit.

Apart from SoD, I now have another monitoring exercise - taking my blood sugar.  I'm getting reasonably blase about whacking a needle in me but the sense of failure if my blood sugar levels aren't low enough is almost as profound as when SoD throws me a curveball.  I am keeping a grip because it's early days and it may be that my drugs haven't kicked in.  The biggest similarity is my reluctance to engage when I know things won't be good.  Today, for example.  I know cake is likely to produce a bad result so I don't really want to see it.  Today has been a needle free day thus far.

I also went shopping today.  I have read that this is supposed to be fun - that some people actually enjoy it.  I may even know people who enjoy it - but they mystify me.  Nothing is more likely to induce crippling self-loathing than looking at myself in mirrors and coming home empty handed.  I gave myself the distraction of accessories (some navy shoe-boots and a new work bag) but failed on all counts.  The seemingly inocuous task of a (preferably stripy) long sleeved t-shirt was in fact an impossible quest (who knew?).  I tried to steer clear of all other clothes but, sick of the boob-pain, resolved to buy a bra (Reader: I have bottled this twice recently).

I went to Bravissimo as I have proven to myself repeatedly that I have no idea what size I am.  This requires military style planning as I know it means standing in front of someone, half-naked.  It had to be a skirt for stomach-camoflaging properties - I couldn't display myself in jeans.  Luckily the fitter was kind (although appalled that my current bra only contained half of my breasts - the other half being forced to skulk under my arms resentfully) and although the resulting bra is now hurting, I suspect it's just the newness rather than gradual boob bisection.  I even bought a patterned hot pink 2nd bra: Reader, I detest pink.  Still not sure what happened there but this is it (no, don't worry, not me in it but a pretty, normal lingerie-model type):

http://www.figleaves.com/uk/product/FRA-AA1651/Freya-Tropics-Underwired-Plunge-Bra/?size=&colour=Reds

It says red.  It's not red.  I was also way out in the size I thought I was - a whole underband size smaller and 2-3 cup sizes bigger.  My cup runneth over indeed.

The SoD debate

Thank you for your words of support.  I’m still not happy but what can I do?  I have to get on with it. 
 
Of course, this renewal of my dedication to the carb-free life (SOB) needs to be evaluated.  I know this.  I have ordered a blood sugar monitor but of course, mentally screaming and kicking, I have forced myself to realise that the Scales of Doom will have to once more have a place in my life.  A feared, despised, terrified place of disappointment, resentment and dashed hopes.  A short period of time each week that I fear and which has the power to destroy not just my week, but my morale too. 
 
Of course (again), I know I’m fatter.  The fact that stuff doesn’t fit me makes that abundantly and painfully clear.  I have however clung to the fact that at least I am not back at pre LL days.  I reckoned I was about a stone off which was bad but at least I hadn’t undone all that pain. 
 
I didn’t want to weigh myself for so many reasons but not least that I’ve been doing this for over a week and therefore wouldn’t see any initial slightly faster loss.
 
Out came SoD, covered in a film of dust but I could feel a malevolent energy underneath that (I had kinda hoped that the batteries would be dead).  I am slightly heavier than before I started LL.  Yes, fresh fat but the wrong way.
 
I believe that it’s customary at this point to make soothing noises about ‘never seeing those numbers again’ but I am living proof that this is not so.
 
I am assuming I was even heavier last week.  Of course, my assumptions have proven to be absolute rubbish so far so who knows?  What I will know is what I weigh next week.
 
But I don’t feel good.  I'm struggling.  I need a break (although obviously not a Kit Kat)

Sweet enough

It’s been a long time and I have a lot to say.  You might want to nip off and make a cup of tea – this could take some time.
 
Work has been appalling.  If you’re yawning, I can’t say I blame you.  But it’s true.  I seem to be in a permanent state of nervous exhaustion.  I didn’t have to work over the weekend which was wonderful but the previous Saturday I had to be in for 9am, didn’t leave my desk until 6pm when I went home and started again at 7pm until midnight – and then worked solidly from 6am – 10.30am the following morning.  And I think I’ve got out at lunchtime three times since the beginning of December.  Sorry to moan, but it’s making life very difficult.
 
But that’s not the full story.
 
Do you remember I said I was being tested for my heart (which I was worried about) and diabetes (which I was not)?  Well I have my heart tests on Wednesday but I tested positive for diabetes.  It was a real shock – I am not thirsty, I do not need the loo a lot (just as well since that’s also something there is no time for in the working day) and I’m not losing weight inexplicably or explicably.  Sadly. 
 
It could explain my very, very cold feet.  It could explain my scalp psoriasis.  It could explain my headaches.  But none of these are very mainstream symptoms.
 
As is typical of my doctor, I just got a note in the post, together with my blood readings and a prescription.  I’m not keen on taking things and I strongly suspected that I was borderline and they just react in a mechanical way.  I checked my readings online though and they’re pretty damn high; there’s no room for doubt and I can see why they’ve put me on medication immediately.
 
When I look back, I’ve always had screwy blood sugar.  I dieted myself into this in my teens – that’s when I first started getting shaky, sweaty and faint if I’d not eaten and the only thing that helped was something carby and/or sugary.  I was the thinnest I’d ever been (or will ever be).  This continued with varying levels of frequency and severity for much of my life – definitely exacerbated by eating too much sugar or carbs.  Although the low carb diet did not give me the weight loss results I wanted, it definitely made me feel the most well – I never had to worry about getting ‘the shakes’. 
 
I’m not carb-obsessed.  Yes, I love cake – but it’s not a frequent part of my diet.  I’m not keen on pastry, I like good bread but despise indifferent bread, I like pasta from time to time and I really like rice although don’t eat it more than a couple of times a month.  But carbs are easy.  When I don’t have time to make lunch to take to work, buying an artisan roll from Pret (mmm) is quick, easy and delicious.  Even finding a salad without pasta/rice/couscous in is pretty impossible.  But clearly I need to cut my carbs right back down.  I’d still like to have a bit at weekends sometimes too so need to be super-strict during the week.
 
And my tablets are making me feel quite ill – I’d been warned that this is often the case but I thought I’d got away with it by researching to build the dose up and take in the middle of a meal.  All was mostly well until last night …. and then it was not.  Today I have quite bad stomach ache.  It can last a fortnight but apparently it’s worth sticking out if I can.  At least I’m not vomiting.
 
The truth is though that although I’m trying to be positive and empowering myself by reading up lots, I am not at all happy about any of this.  I feel a failure.  I know it’s certainly not the worst illness to have but I feel ashamed of it.  I know people will look at me and think I brought this on myself.  As it is, I eat pretty healthily.  Yes, I have a sweet tooth which does occasionally get out of hand – but actually not much.  I’ve only told P and my mum and sworn them both to secrecy.