I might have lost a pound. Or, I might have gained 4 pounds. If it's the latter then I guess I'll have to resort to eating only fingernails and doing 1,000 situps a night to lose the weight because I was decently behaved food wise. I had a few breakdowns, mostly over the weekend, but I'm still trending better than before. Anyway, it's hard to say if I've gained four or lost one because my scale only works if you place it in the absolute perfect spot on the bathroom floor while having the shower running. I have yet to understand why the shower being on is key to the scale working, perhaps the scale works best is a moist environment or the steam loosens some bound widgets inside it or it prefers the white noise sound of a shower.
Yesterday, I did not find this depression-inducing g-spot (D-spot?) on the floor, which means that the scale gives me an ambient 5 pounds. I hopped onboard because I got tired of fucking with the scale and we only have so much weak hot water (I don't even bother turning on the cold water) and it spit out a reading of 240 pounds.
Oh, I felt terrible about myself. I feel terrible right now, about past deeds, about the four holiday cookies I ate today, the extra piece of asiago bread I had with my chili dinner and all the other past meal failures I've done to myself. I'm pissed for every cheese curd eaten, beer drank, larger size ordered and excuse made to make my irresponsible behavior okay. (Celebrate! It's Wednesday! Let's have a pound of fucking potatoes and watch TV!) Not much I can do about it. I mean, that all the best ways to kill yourself have already been taken by poets and rock stars so this is a life I shall have to fight it out with until the bitter, hungry, weight appropriate end.
Anyway, I take solace in that there is a chance that the scale is off by five pounds. It sure does seem like it should give me +5, meaning I'm really -1 a week into the effort to lose 36.6 pounds. However, what if the scale corrects itself at higher weights? Scales sometimes are more accurate with higher weights than low weights, so maybe this is that and I've gained five pounds. Five horrible, taunting pounds because it's not muscle pounds. It's not like I can shuffle cards with my pecs (yet...I did just figure out how to use the pec machine appropriately today).
But rather than drive myself insane with self-loathing, or, more accurately, I'm taking a time out from driving myself insane with self-loathing (hey, if there's not something I can feel bad about myself about, then I ain't happy) and I'm willing to accept the minus one pound. Not that I do accept it. Oh, shit no, but I am willing to accept it (how's that for political equivocation, eh?).
So, here's to winning the first week, sort of, but not really, but it's better than losing outright even if this is losing outright. In other words, for right now, I prefer the mystery (though I will continue being unhappy with myself for good measure).
viva wisco
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