The body is such a weird machine. Yesterday I woke up in the ex-bf’s apartment and we had breakfast together. One piece of toast with tomatoes fried without oil and two cups of coffee. Then I go all day without being hungry. Come home, realize I have to dye my hair before tomorrow, because I’m leaving for the week of nerdiness.
So I do my hair thang while listening to an audiobook, and something in me says, “Hey, you didn’t get high yesterday. You might not be able to smoke all next week. You should roll up now, while you have the chance!” So I did. Smoked about half and almost fell asleep in the shower, while I was rinsing the hair stuff out. (Btw this is actually the first time I’ve dyed my hair without help from my mom. Wee bit embarrassing, but you know, old habits die hard.)
I get out of the shower and eat the following:
- Popcorn
- Pistachios
- 6 toffees
- Bowl of cereal
OK, not so bad in retrospect, but still … I was only hungry because I was high.
Anyway, I go to bed and wake up really early this morning. Brush my teeth, pee, and pace a bit back and forth in front of the scale. Finally, I step onto it … 48,9 kilos.
The day before I was 49,9. That’s ONE kilo in ONE day. Roughly two pounds. My body and the way it functions is completely beyond me.
I’m very excited about how the coming week will affect my weight. I hope that the increase in physical activity, the lack of weed, sleeping like a normal person, and last but not least the cold will help me lose a little more. I am, however, very worried about the food. They’re going to be serving authentic medieval food all the way … Which means meat and starch and giant portions. They’ll be serving fruit throughout the day though, so hopefully it won’t be too bad. I’m bringing my real life-journal along.
Every day I write down exactly how much I’ve eaten or drunk in the course of the day. That’s one of the reasons I don’t understand how I can keep losing weight. I’m not sure if I’m really eating as much as I think I am, or if it’s my way of looking at food that has changed. I used to eat so much, like more than my dad at dinner, but I’ve inherited my mom’s psycho metabolism, so I’ve never been FAT. I’ve been chubby, for sho, but never overweight. My highest weight ever was … 56 kilos, I think? Two years ago. That’s about 123 pounds.
When I look at my body now, I can’t imagine where all that fat would go. I don’t feel like I look THAT different. I know I’ve lost a lot of fat around the thigh area and thank the lord for that. I’ve also lost the belly roll, which I am even more grateful for. But I still wear the same bras, because my boobs miraculously haven’t shrunk. Was I really that much bigger than now?
In my head feeling thin equals feeling frail. Light. I still feel so solid, so big. I know, somewhere, that I am underweight and shouldn’t try to lose more … But my eyes can’t see it. My ass is still too big. My calves are lovely from the side, hideous from the front. Thighs are too large. I’m. Just. Not. Happy.
My baby making machinery should be announcing whether it’s working or not very soon. I hope and pray it still does.
No comments:
Post a Comment