Therapy or Torture?

I'm writing this entry while waiting for my brother to finish making a mess in the kitchen; he's making risotto, I think, but I want to get in there to make a couple of things myself. This is because I decided before Christmas that I was going to indulge in some baking experimentation. But was that really such a good idea...?

I'm a lousy cook. I generally avoid doing anything much cooking-wise because frankly, I suck at it. My baking is generally more palatable, but it's not really saying much. However, I go through phases of wanting to bake things. Generally it's just to assure myself that I can, which isn't always the case (obviously). But between Gordon Ramsay, certain friends and a blog entry about brioche-pastry quail sausage rolls, I ended up with some recipes I really wanted to try. And the fact that a couple of them were leavened bread was just the icing on the dare; I've never made leavened bread in my life. I've exploded yeast in high school chemistry experiments, sure, but bread? Seemed a bit practical for my airhead mind.

So, yesterday I got up early and started on a long learning curve of making brioche. That probably strikes most people as an odd first choice for bread-making, but what can I say, I like French bread and I'm an idiot. My main problem was the yeast, in that it's supposedly summer here but it's freezing. So, the three rises of the dough proved a fascinating experiment in finding conditions the yeast liked enough to grow in (in the end, they got stuck in a vaguely warmed oven before we were all happy about the situation). But I baked the brioche -- Lazy Man's Brioche, if you're wondering; I think you could also cheerfully refer to it as Brioche For Dummies, because I am a really dummy at this -- and...well. I think the fact that the failboat sailed on the first rise meant it was a bit denser than intended, but it smelled wonderful. In fact, it reminded me of buying pain au chocolat early on my first morning in Paris, and eating it down by the Seine. So, I count it as a victory? Ha. My brother was forced to try some for me, and he pronounced it "Good." As he's a man of few words, I suppose I ought to assume this was some sort of compliment.

So, with semi-successful brioche under my belt, I set about preparing the cinnamon rolls. With only one rise of the dough to contend with, I ended up with some very happy rolls proving in the oven by early evening. And then I bunged them in the fridge overnight and got up ridiculously early this morning to bake them. I then glazed then and proudly took them to work, which...was a bit of a disappointment in that the drama of opening with a major computer problem meant no-one was much interested in them while they were warm and fresh out of the oven. However, I was told they were delicious, and after some dubious looks the brioche also ended up mostly eaten. So...victory?

It's just odd. I have some idea of what they tasted like; I ate a tiny sliver of brioche from what stuck to the pan (mostly as I was concerned about my salt accident), and I also tried a tiny sliver of cinnamon roll. And I mean tiny. Still, deviation, I know. It wasn't that I wanted to eat them, mind you; I was testing them to make sure they didn't taste bullshit. But it's interesting because while I was musing aloud about going to Briscoes in the weekend sales to look for some interesting cake or bread pans, she said: "God, it's like you're torturing yourself!" And I looked at her and protested: "No, it's my therapy!" But then...is it?

I just don't know, really. I mean, this all got started because of my bullshit excuse for self-esteem; I dare myself to do things just to prove I can. Obviously this was me getting wound up about making leavened bread. I made pavlova for the first time about ten years ago for a similar reason; I just wanted to prove that I could. (Side note: I am planning on making another one to prove that I still can; if that's not messed up, I don't know what is!) But then...I can't eat this stuff. And aside from having to make sure it's not bitter, I don't really want to eat these things. I mean, it would be nice. But I don't have to shove them in my gob just because I made them. So, in a way, it's teaching myself to be more responsible around food. I mean, in the second or third week of this diet I got so angry about my mother and brother leaving a huge amount of cake on the bench for five days and then leaving town for the weekend without disposing of it, that I took it all outside and threw it at the birds in a fit of pique. I did something similar this morning when I threw the leftover trifle my brother was too lazy to get rid of down the garbage disposal. I just...I don't need to eat these things.

But for some reason I want other people to.

I don't know. In a way it is torturous because much as I don't need to eat these things, there is always that vague yearning. It's an emotional thing, though. And I think it's something I need to become accustomed to. Wanting something, and not getting it. I am a creature accustomed to instant gratification -- but if I am ever going to get thin and stay that way, I need to learn to say no. And in that way, my baking experiments are my therapy. And on that note, I am going to now go downstairs and make coconut chocolate slice as it has no flour and I feel guilty because my gluten-intolerant workmate couldn't eat the brioche or rolls today. I also seem to have decided that making scones would be a laugh. Again, it's because I've never made them and I've convinced myself that I need to.

...yes, I am going through some weird things right now. But I have been back on the diet since Boxing Day and although there have been these tiny slip-ups, I am muddling along. I suppose the truth will out on Sunday's scales, but in the end...I deviated on Christmas Day because I wanted to. And I am tired of feeling guilty about food. I want to learn to live with it. So, watch me learn.

Battered and Bruised?

Ha ha, not really -- although I am always intrigued by the fact that after I eat "normal" food, I end up with stomach pains and a massive pseudo-hangover effect. The two times I've had cake in the evenings, I've had stomach pains all night for my trouble. The night I went out for dinner with my workmates, I spent the entire next day feeling headachy and nauseated and blah. And last night I went to bed mostly because I thought I was going to be sick. Honestly, it's like a hangover. It's ridiculous. And it's also very nice to be back on the diet! You'd think it wouldn't be, but in all honesty I'm already over the rich food. Although it's also obvious to me how much your tastebuds adjust to whatever you're eating, because my first chocolate the other day tasted horrible, but by the end of last night I was enjoying it again. And Diet Coke had already started tasting rubbish again, and this morning my yoghurt had gone back to the blander taste I remember from the early days of the diet. It's really quite fascinating. It'll be fine again, probably by tomorrow, but...yeah. Interesting.

Still, I blew out the diet for the day and even though I know it will be an unpopular opinion amongst many die-hard adherants of the diet I am doing...I am glad I did it. Definitely not something to be done often, but I am glad. I was chatting to my mother between dinner and dessert yesterday, and as I was describing my adventures in French toast (my breakfast cooking attempt), she observed that I had completely blown my diet. I think she was more surprised than anything else, as when she had been talking to my aunt earlier, my aunt had been assuring her that I was actually eating normal food, but I rolled my eyes a bit and said: "Look, it's one day." I then went on to explain something that I have been concerned about, which is Life After The Diet, AKA Maintenance.

This is a funny diet. Obviously. My understanding is that it was actually designed to cope with obesity and its resultant fertility issues, as it was designed for women who wanted to get pregant. Being that PCOS both causes and maintains an obese state in some sufferers, I think -- it's actually why it appealed to me, because although I have never been diagnosed with PCOS my doctor's fairly certain I have enough of the symptoms to make it likely. Now, the curious thing about this diet is the fact you're told to weigh yourself monthly. Because your body, whether male or female, looses weight on a cycle that's roughly four-weekly. Almost no-one obeys this rule; I myself weigh weekly to keep an eye on things, although at this stage it's fairly unnecessary because I know my own particular food-water-sleep combination, when followed, allows me to loose at least a kilogram a week, if not more. But I like to see it go down week by week. Some people weigh daily, but I find it counter-productive as there's too much room for variation on a daily weigh basis.

So, what does this have to do with the diet blow out? Well, I notice that despite the fact the weight-loss phase asks for monthly weighing, there seems to be a maintenance attitude of daily weighing. Or even post-prandial weighing. And this? Terrifies the hell out of me. I explained to my mother that I really do not want to finish this diet and live my life in constant fear of a decent meal. I mean, I know now that carbohydrates? Are not my friend. I simply can't eat a plate full of rice or spuds or bread and expect not to be roughly the size of a barge. I do, however, want to be able to have tuna, avocado and pasta for lunch once a week and not immediately jump on the scales and say OMFG I GAINED A KILOGRAM I AM SUCH A FAT COW I AM NOT EATING CARBOHYDRATES FOR A WEEK!!!11!!!1!!1! I just...well, look. I am halfway through this diet. I am learning about myself, and about food, and about what I can and can't do. I accepted I had a weight problem, and that is what allowed me to do this. But now I am looking ahead to the future and I just...don't want to switch one weight problem for another.

My mother rarely speaks to me about her own weight problems. She's yo-yoed up and down all her life, and is currently in an up phase. But when I mentioned the post-pradial weighing, she sighed, and said: "I used to do that." And it wore her down, obviously. You can't live like that. You can be fat and miserable, but you can also be skinny and miserable. It's just that our culture says the latter is better. That lean is better. And I just...I don't know. I'd rather weigh sixty kilograms and be happy with a mostly-kosher healthy diet than fifty kilograms eating lettuce and steak and crying every time a carb passes my lips. This diet is about being healthy. And a food obsession of any kind is not healthy. They have that silly mantra, don't they? "Eat to live, don't live to eat." I think it's missing something, though. Maybe it ought to be "eat to live, don't live to eat -- but remember, above all? Just live."

However, I am about to go and brave the Boxing Day Sales, so I may not live very much longer anyway. <g> Here comes the REAL battering and bruising, for sure! ^_~

First Impressions

...you know, I had never intended in any way for this to be a daily blog, but the last few days...ha. I suppose it's the run-up to Christmas doing it, as I am just needing to vent things. Work's been stressful, of course, but the whole Food Orgy of Christmas doesn't make things much less stressful.

Still, there were two first impressions today that link back to the diet that I thought were worth mentioning. First of all, today was the birthday of one of my workmates, so naturally there was a shout at work from her. Now, the other day we were given at work by someone (a customer, maybe?) a box of Cadbury Continentals. Now, in New Zealand, as a thankyou you're apt to get either a box of Roses or Continentals. The latter are infinitely better, as the Roses' recipes have been altered beyond recognition over the last couple of years. So, while resisting Roses is easy enough, Continentals...well. Thing is, one of my workmates and I always used to compete for the little strawberry Continentals. And when one of my other workmates was digging in the box, I noticed a strawberry one, and shouted to my erstwhile rival: "Quick, quick, eat it before I do!" She then suggested to me that they save me one for Christmas Eve. I said "Oh, go on, then!" assuming nothing would come of it. We fight to the death over these things, after all. Still, the next day, I came in to work to find a strawberry Continental in a skillet with a prescription label declaring it as mine. So, I popped it in the fridge.

Because of this, the workmate whose birthday it was assumed my favourite Rose is the strawberry. It's my second favourite; I prefer the peppermint, even though the fondant is different enough now that it's not as nice (give me an After Dinner Mint any day!). But she bought me three strawberry Roses from the supermarket Pick n' Mix and gave them to me in lieu of being able to share in the shout. So, I popped them in the fridge, fairly undecided about what to do with them. Around two-thirty, exhaustion kicked in, and my brain was swimming. I decided to risk a sugar hit, and got one of the Roses. First impression of a chocolate in more than twelve weeks?

...wow. Not missing much, am I?

Quite seriously, I wasn't particularly impressed. Actually, for the first time in my life, not only did I eat a chocolate and not automatically reach for another, I debated even finishing the first one. I did, but...yeah. Either Cadbury's Roses have got even worse, or my tastes have really gone la-la. Ha. I debated trying the Continental as a comparison -- it's dark rather than milk chocolate -- but you know what? I wasn't hungry. And I didn't want it. So...that's very interesting. It will be equally interesting to see what I make of a baby Moro bar on Christmas Day. So...yes. I have learned something very intriguing about my tastes and my impulses, here. Eating for the sake of eating, and all that. Definitely something to mark down for future reference.

The other weight-loss first impression of the day came from an after-work drink. I've been messing around on an online dating site at my mother's insistence since some time late last year, though I never got to the point of meeting anyone. I was always too ashamed of my appearance. I've never had the same problem as such with other people I've met online through writing and anime groups, mostly because I already knew what I looked like? Wasn't what they were primarily interested in. It was my mind, and my thoughts. Whereas dating...yeah. More of an emphasis on first appearances, I guess. But tonight I bit the bullet and met up with a bloke after work, and...he was really nice. Not sure if anything is going to come of it -- we had a drink, talked for a bit, and then he had to go to his dance class -- but it was...nice. I wasn't at all nervous, either before meeting up or during. It's not confidence, exactly, more just...a sense of peace, with both myself and the way I look. It's nice. Probably also worth noting that we were in theory meeting for coffee, but while he had a latte I was a good girl and just had a Diet Coke. So, that has to count as a victory -- because while I am swiftly approaching a deviation, I am not treating it as an excuse to give up early and just stuff myself. I didn't really want a milky fatty sugar-laden coffee thing. I was happy with my kosher Diet Coke. And that...is where the learning starts.

And there's only one more day of work until Christmas. <3

Stuffing

There is an absolutely ridiculous amount of food in this house right now, considering the fact that only two people (and two cats!) live here. But being Wednesday, two days before Christmas, I decided to this evening scoot into the supermarket for my last-ditch shopping errands. Basically my main concern was laying my hands on some cream -- I have a long-held paranoia relating to being without cream on Christmas Day -- but I wanted to get everything else I needed for the day, and also for the days afterward. Those days, you see, are going to be the difficult ones -- because I will get up on Boxing Day and go straight back to Life On The Diet. No excuses, just back on the bus. And that will be a lot easier to do if I have everything I need to do so, which I now do.

Still, my boss decided tonight as we were leaving to give us the traditional hamper of Christmas goodies. So, I came home with a hundred and fifty dollars worth of groceries AND a hamper. I put the groceries away, but hauled the hamper into the lounge where my elder brother was watching the cricket and in the end gave him basically everything that was in it. The only things I kept aside? The chocolates and some fudge. I haven't entirely decided what to do with those. I can't eat all of it, nor do I plan to. But I think I'll take the Roses to my aunt's on Christmas Day, eat some Scorched Almonds on Christmas Eve while watching Bernard and the Genie, and then give the rest to my brother. And I might have a few Favourites on Christmas morning and then give him the rest. We'll see how well THAT works out. Ha. But yeah, it's such a relief to have everything in hand now. I just need to make the trifle on Christmas Eve, before I get to movie-watching.

I was also pleased because I found some venison medallions at the supermarket, which I am planning to have some of on Christmas Eve. Whack 'em in the George Foreman grill, maybe? By God, though, Bambi was expensive...but it was four meals' worth, though I may be nice and give a portion to my brother. (We don't cook together, given the complications of my diet.) I'm quite looking forward to it! I haven't eaten deer in a long time, and in a strange way being on such a restricted diet makes me want to be more adventurous. I need to email my mother and tell her to be prepared to make some interesting experimental food the week I'm in Bunbury...

Otherwise, I'm muddling on. I'm terrified of completely losing control on Christmas Day, but I have laid some ground rules -- the most important being that I am not to drink any alcohol. I don't miss it. There's no need to add that to the calorie count. Also, I am to eat as much good food as I can, as in meat and green veg; I want to go easy on the potato and sweet treats. No snacking on chips and peanuts and chocolates. Because this is how I need to live once I am beyond this phase of the diet. I need to make the sensible choice, not the emotional one. Which isn't easy because Christmas is a hugely emotional time for my maternal family. So...we'll see how it goes. By God, though, I am having an After Dinner Mint. ^_~

I also acquired the necessary elements for LEAVENED BREAD BAKING EXPERIMENTS, so Tuesday? Baking Day. I'm going to take photographs of the disaster it is sure to be. Perhaps it's fortunate, that I won't be able to eat the results. Ha!

Perception Filters

I am still having this obsession with brioche today, and I also have the urge to make cinnamon rolls. Huh. I'm tempted to just go ahead and give it a go on Tuesday, as I have to go back to work on Wednesday...I could make the brioche on Tuesday, and then make most of the rolls Tuesday night and cook them before work on Wednesday. Quite what the purpose of all this is, I don't really know, but if I can't eat something myself...might as well try and do it for other people? Besides, then they get the dodgy experiments and I can have the perfected stuff. Later. Ha.

But yeah, there was something else about my television watching the other night -- I ended up watching the Christmas episode of the second series of Lois and Clark. This was one of my favourite shows when I was a kid. Watching it back now...well, to be frank, it's fairly painful. But it's still nostalgia? Thing is, though, when I was twelve or thirteen, watching this show, I used to long to be like Lois. Just...that independence, I think. And she always wore such professional yet individual clothing. It's all so very nineties now, of course, but watching it the other day reminded me of that. And even though I haven't exactly got to the end point, I am now starting to wear clothes that I used to look at with a sense of longing. "I would look grown-up for once!" I would think. And then I would realise I was too fat to fit any of them. That's probably half the reason why I shop so much at Max nowadays. They've always had the clothes I wanted but could never dream of wearing.

In other news, I had two further odd things happen to me at work. I was handing out a script to a customer who was this middle-aged lady who got all excited about how much weight I'd lost. I don't even remember who she was. And then I had a guy, around about my age, do the same thing. I just...yeah. Weird. I think I said yesterday I'm bad with placing people, but now that people are starting to notice me, it's getting really awkward. I suppose I need to pull my head out of the clouds? Uh-oh...

End Week Twelve (More or Less)

I don't typically watch a lot of television. I sort of got out of the habit when I first went to university, which was (OH GOD) more than ten years ago. Basically if I don't have easy access to something, I do without it. Unless I really want to make the effort. Ha. Actually, that was one reason why I lost weight when I first moved to the UK (it was too much effort to get into the kitchen, given it was tiny and one of my flatmates in particular was so childishly selfish that you could be in the middle of cooking for yourself and she'd just come in and shove you out of the way because if she didn't get to eat the moment she wanted to, she threw a fit). But yes, watching television? I just don't do it much. I currently live in my parents' house and because they always watched them, I never got to...right now I am house-sitting with my brother, and you'd think that would mean I would get a chance to now. Well, it's summer and therefore cricket season, so the only cable-enabled television is always on the sports channels, whether or not he's actively watching it or not. So, basically, I continue not to watch television.

What has this got to do with anything? Well, on Friday night I was knackered after a bastard of a day at work and decided that I wasn't going to spend the evening writing. Instead, I flicked on the television, intending to watch something vaguely Christmassy on DVD. I however instantly ran into Gordon Ramsay making food and being a prick, as he is wont to be. And I was enchanted. Bastard. My sister and I used to watch him a bit when we lived in Oxfordshire, but I never really had any particular urge to make anything. I'm not a cook by nature; I can bake, but that's because I'm a pharmacist and baking is basically just (usually) edible chemistry. But now I'm cross, because I am collecting recipes and wanting desperately to make so many things. My current obsession is a brioche recipe; quite why I think I'd be able to make it, I don't know, considering I haven't made leavened bread once in my entire life. But there you go.

...the brioche is sort of the fault of one Diana Gabaldon, mind you; a fan of her books decided to make one of the odd recipes in there for herself, and her take on the pigeon and truffle rolls came out as some rather delicious looking quail and morel mushroom sausage rolls, though the pastry was actually a form of brioche. Now, of course I can't eat these things because of the carbohydrate content, though how I want to try to make it. Hmph. It doesn't help that a wonderful member of the Diana Gabaldon folder on the CompuServe forums has offered to send me some Lord John Grey blend tea, which...I also probably shouldn't be drinking, but dammit, I want some. <g> It's an Earl Grey blend, but I believe it has orange blossom or something in it, and technically fruit teas? Are currently off the menu. But I'm being a brat. It's likely better than brioche, anyway.

But yeah, I have seemingly started a recipe collection of "Things To Make" when I am officially off this diet. But I must shame-facedly admit that at least two of them are likely to be attempted while I am on "holiday" in February. I don't want to go overboard while I am in Australia, but I just...want to try living with food again, instead of against it. I know complete abstinence is the only way this works for some people, but I don't think it works for me. I can maintain it for weeks, but months? I don't think it will work, I think it will ultimately lead me to failure. But I am having to be very careful this week, as I have planned to spend Christmas as a "norm." Which isn't to say I'm allowed to stuff my piggy wee face -- it means I am back in the real world and will have to make sensible choices about what I am putting in my mouth. But because I know this is going to happen, the temptation to start early? Is definitely there. So...no. It's not going to happen. I can be strong until Friday night, dammit.

Still, when that tea arrives, I am going to have to fight the urge to make brioche to go with it. Ha. Actually, I might take a trip out to Bella Kai sometime over the Christmas/New Year period to see what sort of gamebird they actually have. I really shouldn't make these rolls, and I likely won't, but I have been meaning to go out there. Maybe they have venison -- I'm actually allowed venison, and some different red meat would be nice. I'm actually allowed ostrich too, come to think of it...and kangaroo? Ha. Not that these are easy to get around here! Frankly I doubt you could even get pigeon, because while we have kereru -- in fact, they live outside my house -- they're protected to the point there are road signs warning you not to hit them. Although I tell people they read CAUTION: KERERU more because they're the nearest thing we have these days to the Haast's Eagle. Ha ha ha. Keep your windows closed, kids. For god's sake, just keep them closed!

Otherwise, the end of week twelve was yesterday. I only lost 0.6kg over the week, but considering I ate cake and a pikelet on Wednesday night to stave off fainting at a meeting and I also had extra crackers and fruit Thursday for the same reasons, it was a miracle I lost anything at all. I seem to have come right this week, at least, and my blood test this morning was an interesting experience. The phlebotomist recognised me -- I'm not sure entirely how, as I have a terrible memory for people and often struggle to place where I've met someone before. But she could see how much weight I'd lost and was impressed and happy for me. And one of the other pharmacists at work, who'd been away last week, arrived to see me in Saturday's new dress -- a size small, would you believe -- and announced I was fading away. Score? I think so. But I have been struggling the last few days to accept that I've lost this weight, but on Saturday when I got the dress and then the medium Blue Banana t-shirt and then...on Sunday I took some pictures in my underwear and flicked back and forth between them and the beginning ones, and...yeah. Wow. It's just...quite an experience, I think. I honestly cannot believe it's been twelve weeks. And I suppose that is what is going to keep my sticky fingers out of the brioche -- the fact that I got this far.

I also bought a bracelet for my twelve-week jewellery reward. It's very lovely, and another reminder of the fact that I am getting somewhere. So...here's to another twelve weeks on-target? Mostly? Ha. We'll see...

End Week Eleven

I think I can safely assume that I have found my secret squirrel when it comes to this diet; I need to keep drinking plenty of water. It really does keep the numbers coming down, which makes me feel wonderful. I'm about 12kg down now -- 3kg off halfway! As there are two weeks until Christmas, I may just make it to halfway by then. I did have a moment of concern last night, though; I have decided to go off the actual diet for the week in Februrary that I am in Western Australia, but I just realised that going back on may not be so easy as my mother, at least, will be returning with me. So...hmm. I don't know. I'll take it as it comes. Hopefully by that stage anyway I'll be down to the last ten kilograms?

The Christmas temptation thing is otherwise not going too terribly. I was augmenting gifts the other day with chocolate Santas, and when I opened the bag I was hit with an absolutely incredible scent of chocolate. I hadn't had that with the other chocolates I'd been using, and by God I wanted to eat the chocolate. I didn't, but...oooh. Dammit. It reminded me of when I used to live in Dunedin; being a mad student in my final year who finally had a car, I used to occasionally drive to Countdown at midnight for groceries. This is the time when the factory across the street from the supermarket used to open its louvres. This factory was the Cadbury factory. ...whenever this happened, I bought a lot of chocolate, let me assure you.

Thinking of that, though, reminds me that I am really starting to realise how badly I ate before, and why my body was the way it was. But...yeah. Because Christmas is coming and I am trying to be more cheerful about the whole thing (it's not an easy time for my family for various reasons, and this year I am without all but one member of my immediate family), I decided to buy a pretty dress for Christmas Day. In a size twelve. And I succeeded in finding one yesterday, so...yay! It's nothing like a Nanami-dress, of course, but never mind.

Speaking of Nanami, I was directed to a website with the Ohtori uniform for sale. Ooh. There's something to think about once the cash haemorrhage that is Christmas has clotted over at last! <3

Far From The Crowd

I've never been a very social person. I think it's just my personality, as even though I remember having friends as a child, I was always perfectly happy to play on my own, too. It really only became noticeable when I was in intermediate and then in high school. I mean, I always had friends, but I didn't go out as often as my friends did, I rarely went to parties, and I just...wasn't very social except when I needed to be. This has led into my being fairly anti-social as an adult, and also has something to do with my reluctance to be involved in relationships (it's twofold; one, I don't feel like I'm good enough, and two, I'm too selfish). But I am finding that this diet makes me feel more isolated.

It's not a huge thing, but I just felt like mentioning it because I need to work through these things in order to get through the diet and to come to terms with the new person emerging from underneath the insulating layers of blubber. I noticed it at work today particularly, though it's been around for a while; it's the oncoming Christmas season that really emphasises things. Because people share candy and sweets and talk about how delicious it is, and they don't include me. Obviously they know I can't have these things and so think it's better just not to mention it to me, but...it's a small staffroom. And it's like being talked about like you're not even there. And I can't stand that. I do try and work through it by getting involved in conversations even if they're food-centric because talking about food doesn't generally make me want to eat it, and certainly it doesn't make me fat. But...yeah. It's awkward. And is just another thing that I need to think about, as I continue on this bumpy road to success.

On Display

I've been having the odd experience the last few days of feeling on display. I think I mentioned in my last entry that I've already had people start to talk to me about the mythical END OF THE DIET phase, and...well, it's really strange to me. Probably it's because I still feel like a heifer, not to mention I am not even halfway through the actual weight to be lost. But then my view of my body is skewered anyway; after years of looking in the mirror and telling myself "You're not THAT fat!" I have turned around and started thinking "You haven't lost that much weight!" It's even got to the point where I can half-convince myself that wearing size 12 jeans doesn't matter, that I'd have fit into them before if only I'd tried (bearing in mind I wore size eighteen jeans in September, yes?). So...yeah. I'm not a good judge of these things, that much is obvious.

So, it would logically follow that I should be relying more on others for that information. But...I don't know who to believe. I actually had a meltdown back in September when I received my diet plan, as the projected final weight range was 49-52kg. Even now, I don't like it -- I don't want to be that little. The mid to high fifties would do me just fine. But already I have had people telling me that the sixties are fine, that I shouldn't get too skinny, and I keep thinking that...well, I'm technically overweight until I'm about 63kg. And I don't have anything particularly odd in my make-up, and having 35% bodyfat is not a good thing. I have a long way to go yet. But my sister has already informed me that I'll catch shit at Christmas from the extended family for my weight loss (she got something similar, though to be honest she's never been fat anyway). I just...I don't know. I'm already so confused about what I should look like and what I should weigh, so it gets to the point where I don't really want to discuss it with people. Because there's nothing worse than being unsure about something and then having your resolve undermined by well-meaning advice.

That's not to say I don't want to talk about this in general, because I wouldn't keep the blog if I didn't, but...yeah. This week, I'm just so confused, about a lot of things. I suppose I just have to keep on going and see how things pan out. I just remember one of my workmates saying to me that one of the customers had said to him "Wow, she got skinny!" So...it really is becoming noticeable, even to people who only see me in passing. And I'm not even halfway there. It's kind of scary, being that I've always tried to fly below the radar. This...is going to take some getting used to.

End Week Ten

So, it's the end of Week Ten -- how time does fly? I keep trying to work through the disappointment, that things aren't happening as fast as I thought they would, but then...it's so easy to get past that first initial motivation and then flag. And I do know that my personality tends towards that sort of fatalism; my other blog is about my writing, and I've never struggled with starting a thing. I could start things all day. Finishing them, however...ah, well, that's another story altogether.

So, here I am, keeping on keeping on. I was a bit disappointed with my weigh-in last week, which from memory was a decrease of 0.6kg. I had to admit I had sabotaged myself to some degree, as on the Saturday night I ate a piece of cake. Again, it wasn't a spur of the moment decision, but I know it was the wrong decision. At my writing group meetings the last couple of months we've had cake; I'd decided long before that I would do it on Halloween, but I decided I wouldn't this time. But I felt guilty about having a cake made for us, and I gave in. So...I need to work on saying no. It's not the end of the world if I don't eat cake, is it? And while it was delicious, I am finding more and more that the craving is entirely mental. Taste-wise, I'm going off sweet things. So...yeah. There's a harsh little lesson learned.

With that said, the slow weight-loss despite my continued high water intake could be related to that time of the month, because this week I kept the water uptake up and lost 1.4kg. Now, this may be TMI, but I was a little weirded out by my period this month. It was the second since starting, and it was light. Which for me, is wonderful; before I would generally bleed like a stuck pig for three or four days and then it would taper and disappear completely after six or seven days. This time it was fairly light throughout, but lasted ten days. Which was annoying in a whole new way. But I've always been concerned that I have PCOS, so this at least tells me that my body is responding to the weight-loss, so...it's all good.

The exciting thing about this week's loss, though, is that it brings me to 69.4kg. I haven't been in the sixties for a very long time, I suspect. Probably not since I was fifteen or so. So...welcome back? I also got my jeans back from being altered on Friday, so I am snug in a size twelve. In the next couple of weeks I will brave town at lunchtime and go and find a size twelve dress from Max to wear on Christmas Day. Something floral and light and lovely and feminine, I think. ...although speaking of Christmas, was slightly amused by this email from my mother the other day; I'm going to Christmas dinner at my aunt's and she was in at work on Friday, and as the initial call was to my brother, I was checking logistics of guests and food with her (as I'll need to get some small gifts and make some sort of food offering; current suspect? CHOCOLATE TRIFLE). My mother then wrote me yesterday:

Rang Rae & Dave yesterday and they said you got skinny!!!  Won't recognise you when you come in Feb. 

Combined with what I mentioned the other day -- one of my workmates saying that I can't have much more to lose, I mean -- it's really a weird sensation. On the forums I hang out on sometimes people mention how odd it is, when people start saying how skinny you are/how you'll be able to stop soon when you're nowhere near your goal. I never thought it would happen to me, but there it is. I did write back that I could hardly be considered "skinny" considering by everyone's standards I am still overweight, but never mind. She was talking about being smaller in February, too, so I just concentrated on encouraging that. It will be good for her health, and I'm all for having my Mummy as long as possible. <3

In the meantime, I should go do the dishes and then go into town to hunt out some bits and pieces for my crafty Secret Santa for work. I'm in a good headspace this morning; here's hoping it lasts through the week!

Against The Rain

More than anything, I suppose this is just an entry to say that I am still alive, still dieting, and still going up and down like the proverbial yo-yo. NaNoWriMo is now over, so that's one less stressor, but it's also a loss of a distraction. I've been so hungry this week, it's quite bizarre. It's of course that Time of the Month, although...I don't know. I'm desperate to get into the sixties, and it's tantalisingly close. I think this morning I was about 70.5kg, so...yeah. Not that I would usually weigh during the week, but I was being naughty. My weight was about 71.5kg a couple hours ago, but I only know that because I was stressing over the weight of a box and that was the handiest way to check. Huh.

But yeah, Christmas is coming, and with it the usual downpour of sweet things. I've already decided to break on Christmas Day, but otherwise? I am going to be saying no to any and all offerings of seasonal joy in edible form. It already seems to be pissing off at least one person at work, who got very snotty today. We were planning Secret Santa, and I said: "Look, much as I'd appreciate the thought, any food I'm given? Will be eaten by my brother." It wasn't as if I was being snarky when I said it, nor is it that no-one I work with isn't aware already that I am on a very restrictive diet. But yeah, one person was being quite vocal about how it's "all for fun" and we should "like what we get" so...I don't know. But my brother's always hungry anyway, so there's that.

Otherwise, I wore a medium dress to work today; bright red for the first day of December, and a couple of my workmates were saying that if I lost much more weight, there'd be nothing left of me. Which is a bit hilarious, as I still have twenty kilograms to go. My mother was also chatting to me on the phone and asked me what I wanted for Christmas; she said "There are a lot of pretty things here, but I have no idea what size you are now." "Oh, twelve." "Twelve?" Then she asked how much I'd lost, I replied only ten kilograms, and got "Only?" back. Huh. But yeah, to be honest, I am baffled by my drop from an eighteen to a twelve while only losing ten kilograms in between. Weird, if you ask me, but I guess from here on in the size drop will be less rapid?

I am looking forward to getting my jeans back from being altered on Friday, though. I bought some size twelves in my favourite style on Saturday in what I thought was advance of need, knowing that I would need the legs shortened and that it takes the dry cleaner four days to do it, but...they fit already. And my size fourteen ones are bothering me right now because they're too loose around even my monster ass, so...go figure? I just wish the actual weight wasn't being so slow about shifting, as it's going to take at least three or four months longer than I'd thought. And already the lack of chocolate is driving me to distraction, although that could just be Christmas. Seriously, I bought a box of Favourites for packing with my parcels in the weekend and I could have murdered one of those baby Moro bars. Fortunately I didn't, but...yeah. Temptation sucks.

Right now, though, I best go do some writing, have a shower, and then read some Japanese before bed. I'll still be hungry, but at least I won't be able to dwell on it...