Category Archives: Freeform thoughts

Asshole Logic

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, ,

mouse

I like to think I’m a fairly intelligent person. I mean not in an academic kind of way – I’ve got a handful of smarts but I was thinking more along the lines of plain old common sense logic. Give me a problem and I’ll usually figure out a way to solve it. Make it a complex problem and that really gets my grey matter working – I love a challenge. Thing is, when it comes to dieting, logic deserts me before I’ve even counted a single calorie.

I suspect it’s the asshole factor if I’m being honest. I’ve thought about this a lot and you know that way where someone from the I.T. service desk can dial into your computer and move your mouse? Well I reckon as soon as I talk myself into another diet, the asshole gets hold of my mouse and moves it around the bit of my head that controls logic.  I can provide examples.

I’ve never ever started a diet on any other day but a Monday. Why is that? Even the mandatoryJanuary diet – obviously you can’t start a diet on New Year’s day because of the hangover munchies. But unless the 2nd of January is a Monday, I can’t start it then either…it would have to be the first Monday after that.

And say for example I decide on a Thursday that I’m starting a diet on Monday, the next bit of asshole logic means that I have four days left to eat my bodyweight in all the naughty food I won’t be able to eat once I’m on the diet. That exact thing happened before I started this one – I got back from holiday on the Saturday having basically spent the previous 2 weeks eating my way through Northern Europe, in fact I don’t think my jaws stopped moving for two straight weeks. But between Saturday night and Monday morning I still managed to fit in a chinese takeaway, fish and chips and an Indian meal. Because asshole logic told me that I wouldn’t be able to eat them ever again, so it was now or never.

Of course had the asshole not been controlling my mouse, I would have realised that the more I ate pre-diet, the more I’d have to lose on the diet.  And god forbid I put a foot wrong – let’s say someone’s passing a bag of Maltesers around at work, and I take one. They’re like 8 calories each, but well that’s the day ruined isn’t it. I’ve cheated now so I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

So as the asshole jumps up and down with glee I’ll ignore the rabbit food I brought for lunch, and have a cheese and ham toastie from the deli up the road oh and a piece of battenburg cake whilst I’m there. I’ll start again tomorrow. Except tomorrow’s not Monday. I’ll start Monday.

Real logic would tell me that’s like walking 500 steps forward, stumbling back 2 steps and feeling like I’m back to square one. Of course I’m not – I’m 498 bloody impressive steps from the starting blocks and despite the stumble I’m still facing forward. But for as long as the asshole has his hands on my mouse, I’m afraid I’m shafted.

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

Bad Lands

Freeform thoughts,

ducks

I used to work with a lady who was quite spiritual in her approach to life – I don’t mean in a religious sense, it was less defined than a belief system. In fact I don’t really know how to describe her…the nearest I could come up with would probably be ‘as mad as a box of frogs’ but that sounds unkind and actually I look back on her attitude with fondness and not a small amount of envy if I’m honest. She believed in whatever felt right to her in any given moment in time, for whatever reason, no matter how quirky – or utterly bonkers –  it seemed to anyone else.

Just think about that for a second…how liberating would that be. I mean on one level, I reckon we’ve all done it to some small degree – hands up if you’ve ever read a horoscope and immediately checked a different newspaper or magazine or website to find one that sounded more appealing – I know have.  And if I have two to choose from, and one of them tells me today is the day that a tall dark handsome millionaire is going to carry me off to a land where chocolate has no calories, where he will ravish me till my eyes pop out,  or better still I’m going to bag my dream job as chief ice cream taster for Haagen Dazs and I’ll get skinnier with every mouthful, count me in I’ll pick that one every time. But much as I might leave the house with a spring in my step ready to embrace Utopia, that’s closer to wishful thinking than belief.

Our personal belief systems have evolved through our respective lifetimes as a direct result of things we’ve seen, experienced, been told. My personal view is that our self esteem is so closely linked to our personal beliefs that it’s nigh on impossible to separate the two. And if somebody says something which resonates within our personal belief system, the message lands far more easily than if it’s at odds with what we believe.

That’s why the asshole in my head has so much power over me. My belief system is built on some fundamental principles which include skinny being good, and fat being bad. I’m not alone in this belief – it’s widely held if you’ll pardon the pun – it’s a message that seems baked into the fabric of society, unless you live in Tonga (which by the way I’m still considering as a relocation option if the diet goes to shit). I can’t even begin to tell you how much I envy those people who regard fat and skinny as having equal merit in the body stakes. I’d give my right arm to feel like a goddess instead of a moose but I just don’t see a world where that’s going to happen. After almost fifty years (*weeps * HTF did that happen) my beliefs are pretty hard-wired into my DNA.

So if someone tells me I look nice, I’ll smile and accept the compliment but it doesn’t land, you know? When the asshole tells me I look fat, that lands. Bad lands every time. The trick is, taking the hit and using it to spur you on to a better place…I’m on it.

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

Essential Lady Maintenance

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now,

dog hair

Now, as the asshole pointed out earlier this week, I am overdue for a haircut so I’m headed to the salon this morning. I’m going to have a colour treatment too, fool the silver into posing as blonde, as you do. All sounding good so far? It’s probably the two most miserable hours I’ll spend this month. I look forward to hair appointments as much as my dog looks forward to going to the vet.

We have different stressors obviously…he worries about the thermometer, having had several temperature checks by stealth over the years. It’s the only time he ever sits without being asked and stays sitting. Me, I worry about leaving the salon with my hair styled in the shape of a cauliflower now I’m flirting with fifty, and I’m fat.

What if, the trendy young string bean wielding the scissors can only visualise that cauliflower hairstyle when she looks at me?  What if, my request for a soft and choppy layered look falls on deaf ears because it’s clearly too edgy a style for me, in her youthful skinny opinion? What if I come out of there looking like my mother?

I  will be forced to sit in a chair which is a bit too small, in front of a full length mirror, draped in a black nylon cape for two hours by a skinny girl who will cover my head in tinfoil and bake me under a heat lamp. I don’t do mirrors as a rule, but today I shall be forced to sit and stare at myself for TWO. WHOLE. HOURS.

It’s going to be torture. All I’ll see balanced on top of the big black dome of a cape is several chins followed by chubby red cheeks topped off with a head full of little silver squares…the asshole in my head is going to think all his Christmases have come at once.

But I tell you what, now we’re talking, in terms of diet motivation – by the time I leave that salon, having spent the best part of my morning staring at my living breathing ‘before’ photo, if that hasn’t added another layer of glue to the cake shield nothing will – bring it on, I say. Asshole, do your worst – fat face? Yes but it won’t be as fat tomorrow. Chubby cheeks? Yes but not many wrinkles – you don’t get wrinkles in a balloon, BOOM BOOM! 

I even have faith that my hairdresser will give me the cut that I like. And when I’m skinny, she can knock herself out and style it in the shape of whatever vegetable she likes…when you have cheekbones in place of hamster pouches even cauliflower haircuts look foxy 🙂

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

First Impressions

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now, ,

not listeningI had an interesting conversation with the asshole inside my head yesterday morning as I was getting dressed, and I chewed on it all the way to work. Given that I’m a single girl, early morning conversation in my house is usually limited to my chit chat with the dog who listens really hard with his head cocked to one side just waiting for me to mention either ‘breakfast’ or ‘walkies’, both of which are guaranteed to prompt a little brown and white whirlwind because that’s his cue to race downstairs and crack on with his day. So it’s generally a time of low conflict given that both me and the furry one are blessed with a sunny disposition and enjoy our morning routine.

The asshole had different ideas today. I told you didn’t I, that he’d try and erode my willpower though the back door by affecting my mood. So this morning, he started by passing comment on my hair, which admittedly needs cutting – I’m going on Saturday as it happens but apparently when it’s just that bit too long, it makes my face look fat. Fatter.

He didn’t approve of my outfit either which prompted me to change twice before I even left the bedroom. I never do that, so clearly he thought he was on a roll, and as a parting shot he reminded me I was interviewing today, and what would the candidate think when they were met by some fat old woman in reception.

It didn’t make me run for the naughty cupboard and drown my sorrows with chocolate in case you’re wondering, but the reflex to eat when I need to draw some comfort is alive and well, evidenced by the fact that I’d eaten my lunch by 10am. But that was a whoops with a small ‘w’ because despite his best efforts, I didn’t crumble and the game ended with Me: 1 – Asshole: 0.

But anyway, as I was driving into the office, I did reflect on what is the first thing people notice about me. When I’m skinny, people might notice my hair, which Mother Nature has rushed through the aging process with warp speed and it’s very silvery blonde now. It’s actually quite a pretty colour. If I was to have a bad hair day they’d definitely notice that too…untamed (which it never is for work) it’s ridiculously curly with a tendency to frizz and puff out like a really bad silver ‘fro.

When I’m skinny they’d probably notice my clothes…I’m a bit of a fox if truth be known when I can fit into non-fat-lady duds and I have an eye for what looks good. It’s a different story when you’re the size of two people in one body – for all these catalogues and websites purporting to design clothes to flatter ladies with a fuller figure, the reality is whatever you put on looks blah, or at least that’s how it feels.

When I’m skinny people might even notice my big smile, or my green eyes. But right now, I think the asshole’s probably right – before they have chance to take in any of that, they’d probably just notice that I’m really fat. And on days when your confidence is having a bit of a wobble, that really sucks.

Like it..? Tell your friends!
 

The heifer in the helicopter

Freeform thoughts, In the here & now

Chinook

For all my harping on about not getting weighed beyond maybe once a month or so, I do have a very important short term goal. I think I mentioned that some friends and I have a trip coming up in a few weeks – as part of that we’re doing a helicopter flight which is going to be amazing. However.

When we booked it a few months ago I was wildly optimistic about how much weight I would have lost by the time we went…for reasons we’ve discussed earlier in the week, that didn’t happen. I think I’m probably heavier now than was when I made my best guesstimate about how much I’d weigh at the point of lift-off. Whoops. Worst thing is, you have to put your weight on the booking form and mine wasn’t just ‘shave a bit off’…it was more ‘wander into the realm of fantasy and knock a shit load off because it’s ages away and I’m bound to be skinny by then’. Double whoops. In fact, FUCK. I don’t think they have any Chinooks.

I so badly didn’t want to be the heifer in the helicopter but according to the evil scales, last Sunday I was into double seat territory. All six of us want to go in the same ‘copter and I’ll feel so bad if that can’t happen because I scored an epic fail and didn’t take the weight off. So…my mission, which (better late than never) I have chosen to accept, is to dodge a two-seat charge and see something incredible with five of my closest friends. I have 6 weeks and 5 days to pull it out of the bag. They weigh you, right there in the office when you’re checking in, so every day I’m going to visualise two scenarios.

The first one is me, stepping on the scales as they’re preparing the helicopter,  and triggering a big red flashing light, with an alarm sounding and bells ringing, and all my friends shaking their heads sadly as I’m despatched to a helicopter all of my own in the hope that it will make it off the ground. In the second scenario I’m in the same place, standing on the same scales (and I might even get one of ‘those’ looks from the clerk, you know the ones that skinny people reserve for fatties) but she quietly writes down my number and says ‘NEXT’.

I reckon that visualising will help. The first scenario would make me want to curl up and die right there on the spot. The second would be awkward enough but I’d be proud, and relieved and I’d feel like I’m the same as everyone else in my group. Even if the seatbelt almost cuts me in half, even if I have to sit in the middle at the back so as not to make the helicopter tip up, even with all that I’d be treated like everyone else, and that on its own is enough to make me feel as light as a feather.

I am going to do it.

Like it..? Tell your friends!