I'm having a bit of an argument with myself tonight; I want to go and weigh now, even though I am not supposed to until Sunday (which marks my first full week back on the diet). But I know I shouldn't do it. I'm not likely to like the result, you see; my lowest recorded weight before things went pear-shaped was 63.8kg; at this stage I figure I'll be lucky to be anything around 65kg. I need to accept that and move on, of course, but I'd much rather have a full week under my belt before I confront that nasty little truth about myself. But because I was arsing about tonight and tried on my size eight dress, well...it does still fit, in that I can put it on and do up all the buttons. But it's obvious that it's not the same fit as it was when I bought it in January, so...yeah.
I just keep ruminating on how much time I wasted. I think it's partially because I'm angry about the reasons why I did it; while the holiday was always going to happen, I went so crazy beforehand because work was a nightmare. And it really still is; I came back on-programme because I finally realised I can't let other people dictate how I want to change and live my life. But it still leaves me frustrated. It makes me feel weak. If I'd stuck to this, I'd have been another five kilograms down, probably. Into the fifties, anyway. Instead, I'm praying to not be close to the mid-sixties. There's no point in obsessing over time already lost -- it's not like I can turn it back -- but I just can't seem to stop. I need to accept it as a learning experience, and just...move on.
I mean, I did learn things. I'm consistently surprised by how much more I enjoy food, which has to be a good thing. I made lots of crazy desserts and enjoyed them, and tonight I'm even angry about oyster season. Oyster season. I don't even like oysters. But a friend sent me a New Orleans cookbook, and oh boy do some of those recipes look good. (It doesn't help that I made sweet shortcrust pastry back in January, and then for one of my parents' entertainments I finally got around to using it and made pecan pie; not only was it absolutely wonderful, I now have a yen to make both sweet potato and pumpkin pie. Dammit.) I particularly want to try and make some sort of jambalaya with oysters, but even the other things look fun. It's just...yeah. I mean, one of my favourite meals at the moment? Involves prawns. I'd only eaten them very rarely before this, and mostly doused in tempura. Man, I even specially bought honey balsamic vinegar in Margaret River and had it shipped home for my prawns. Not that I can use that right now; the honey's not kosher enough for the diet guidelines. Dammit.
I think I am also scared again about what will happen after the diet. Although these weeks off could have been far worse, I'm sure, I still got out of hand on more than one occasion. I tend to believe -- or hope, at least -- that it was a kind of "Last Supper" effect; certainly I overate at Christmas because I knew the next day I wasn't allowed any more. So in these weeks I ate more than I really needed/wanted to, simply because I dreaded going back on plan. And yet I wanted to be back on the diet; it's a symbol of control, and it also means I don't have to worry about my weight. I have to worry about all sorts of other things, but my weight is not one of them. It's very odd, all around. And I already miss exercising; the diet's too low-calorie to really sustain any sort of exercise regimen on, but I loved walking in the evenings. And my Zumba.
So, anyway. I am sitting here thinking of goals. Lent's coming, isn't it? I'm no Catholic, of course, but in the spirit of New Orleans I am in all likelihood going to make a King Cake on Sunday in honour of Mardi Gras on Tuesday. When I'd first decided to do this, back in January, I'd had every intention of eating a slice -- I mean, they don't call it Fat Tuesday for nothing, yeah? But now...I think it would be a very bad idea. I really need to keep on the straight and narrow. In an odd way it's far easier to say NO to sweets and treats when I am fully functional on the diet...I mean, I was offered "just one chocolate" the other day and said no easily enough. Last week, I'd have been right in there. So, there's always that. I just have to accept that it's going to be another couple of months...I'd hoped to be done by Easter, the traditional end of Lent. Looks like my fast is going to be just a bit longer.
Still, I have to think of goals. I will probably have a better idea of those goals and their viability on Sunday morning, but right now? I want to be in the fifties by the end of March, and I want to order refeed by the end of April, which is when I want to be 54kg. Depending on my current weight, that's more or less ten kilograms in eight/nine weeks -- it's doable, frankly. If I keep to the rules. So...yeah. I will likely end up collecting sweeties -- such as a damn Easter Egg -- but I really need to stick to the plan now. I mean, my sister is probably going to send me some American sweets back from New York, and I am planning on going back up to Queenstown in early April where I will certainly acquire lemon sherbet lollies and proper British jellybabies, but...if I could keep a box of Continental Old Gold on my bedside table for six weeks without eating it, I can keep the others, too.
So. Yeah. It's just a bit further. I've got this far...I just have to keep going.
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