A Grand Plan

I confess my attitude to weight loss is hardly what one might call "hard core" but it is working ... at the same rate as mountain ranges are formed, admittedly, but still working. Lately, however, I've lost a bit of focus. While changing my lifestyle is good and "dieting" is bad (or, rather, setting yourself up for a fall in the long run) it has meant that I seem to have forgotten just how much weight I still need to lose. Yes, I've done really well. Yes, I've lost 7 stone or so which is exactly what I needed to do and I should be pleased with myself. But not too pleased. Maybe I can't play in the front row for England anymore (that's a self-derogatory rugby reference) but that doesn't mean I'm done.

Thusly, I have come up with a plan. A refocus, if you will.

One week on Tuesday, it will be 70 weeks until my 40th Birthday. If I lose 1lb per week (0.5kg) I could potentially lose 5 stone (approx 32kgs) in total. That's slightly more than I've been planning on, which makes it seem eminently "doable".

So, challenge issued and challenge accepted.

Bon voyage.

COLLYWOBBLES!

I'm going back to University. I've already bought books, even though I can't register until next month and most people don't start until September. I have notebooks, pens, all sorts. I'm good at that. Getting organised, sorting out what I need. The thing I'm not very good at is the rest of it. I can buy a great folder or a right shiny exercise book, perfect for whatever I need, but can I actually USE it? Can I study? Can I do what I should? Generally, I excel at not doing what I should, I'm an absolute Ace in that department. Give me a rule or an obligation and I'll have flouted, broken or ignored it within five minutes, tops. Even when it benefits me. ESPECIALLY when it benefits me. I get this odd feeling in my stomach, like butterflies if butterflies were partial to lead boots, and the urge to do the opposite takes hold of me. I can't concentrate for toffee, never have been able to. How in the Bejesus Derby did I ever get a Master's degree? Luck. Must be. And WHAT THE GODDAMNED HECK DO I THINK I'M DOING ANYWAY? Shizzle. I need a little raft to take me to a little island where I can live out my little days just reading and mooching and doing little else.

But that's the trouble, isn't it? If I just sit and vegetate, if I don't push myself, don't try to live the life I want, do the things that I believe are the right things for me to do - whether or not my collywobblers try to tell me elsewise - my life will be a little life. Not worth a mention. A footnote to the lives of others. If I didn't care about that, if I didn't want more, then that would be just fine, but it seems like a big barrel of meh to me. I've never thought of myself as having ambition, never felt like I was entitled to it, but that same rudderless rebel within tells me that I'm no stinking footnote (at least it has some use, I guess) I'm the goddamned main attraction in my own life, for the love of Galactus.

But I've still got the collywobbles. Still got the little voice that says "You're an idiot if you think you can do it. It's all just another waste of time, you pointless girl". Fucking collywobbles.

An Amendment

I'm not sure I made my point in that last post. I made A point, but perhaps not THE point I had in mind. I got carried away with myself, I frequently do. My point was that I've realized that I'm ALLOWED to feel aggrieved. Someone might well see the same set of circumstances in a very different light, but my perspective is not negated simply because it's mine. I have a right to feel imposed upon or injured (I'm bowdlerizing Emma, it's a terrible habit) just as anybody else does. I shouldn't immediately jump to the conclusion, which I all too often do despite my bluster, that I must be the offending party and that my hurt is simply covering embarrassment or wotnot. Sometimes people are fucking shitty. Sometimes people should be called out on it, but sometimes you need to walk away because it will never be made right. But that doesn't mean you don't have a right to feel hurt. You are and I am entitled to our own perception and reaction. And fuck anyone who says otherwise. They're probably ballbags.

Bygones. Finally, bygones.

The large woman on Supersize vs Superskinny last night really reminded me of someone from my past, someone who I haven't had contact with in a long time (and they will know me by the trail of the offended and the aggrieved) I'd been thinking about trying to get back in contact (I doubt I'd get any response) but this timely reminder changed my mind. 

Some people really do treat you wrong and those people, no matter how much they think they're the wounded party, can fuck off. I was hurt and I was let down. I'm allowed to say that because that's how I felt. I did shit wrong, no doubt, but the vitriol and the abandoment that I was treated to outweighed that billy bullshit. For a very long time I blamed myself entirely. I felt embarrassed and guilty even though I knew it wasn't all down to me, that I had certain problems that someone who cared for me would not condemn me for. I'm allowed to own that, to think enough of myself to say "I wasn't the only one in the wrong actually. You were shitty too. You should be ashamed of yourself. My behaviour might have seemed unacceptable to you but, if you'd known me at all, it was understandable, if not palatable. If you had really been my friend you would have weathered it because god knows I had to weather your ballbaggery often enough." Besides, I don't need that kind of weedy arsebiscuit hanging on me, sucking my energy. My demons aren't gone but they are currently cowering in a corner licking their wounds. I'm strong. I survived. Clinging onto tiresome worries about bygone shitdickery can only hold me back. 

So I say, enough. 

The small stuff doesn't need my sweat. And that episode is small stuff now. Bygones. Over. Done. Thank you large lady from Supersize vs Superskinny. I hope you get healthy and stay happy. You've done me a massive favour (no pun intended) You made me feel approximately 800% better about something that has been weighing on me for several years. I feel free of it. It took its own sweet bloody time. 

This session of whining was brought to you by Self-Indulgence Inc.