Blurred days and weigh-in.

Sunday I spent most of the day in bed because I didn't feel well again, after being awake all night suffering from my pizza binge. Then I loaded up my stuff and my dogs and did the two hour drive back home. I didn't want to leave. I hated leaving my cousin alone, and I hated coming back to going to work at a job I knew I'd hate.

Predictably, I couldn't sleep last night after spending all day in bed -- even though I was exhausted from feeling sick for two days (headfirst first, then intestines). So at 5:45 I headed off to my first day, and it was worse than I anticipated. This place is insane. Lots of crazy policies that serve no apparent purpose, completely overbearing, it's like they're big brother. There are seriously security cameras fucking everywhere. It's kind of creepy. The building is set up poorly and I've never seen a place that provides less desk space and more employees per foot on the floor. They don't pay enough for me to put up with this crap! I'm really going to try to give it a fair shake, or at least make it through the week so I"ll have the rest of my rent money, but beyond that ... I don't know if I can hang. The basic job is soul-sucking enough without feeling like I'm under a microscope like that.

I came home and crashed from about four to midnight, even though I meant to only sleep for an hour or so. But that's okay, at least I slept. When I got up I was going to send my friend another scale picture and ask her to tell my what my loss was, but I figured I'm ready to handle the numbers. I didn't think I would yet. But I guess her telling me my weight was "just under" 300 pounds sort of prepared me.

Anyway, I pulled up the scale photo I'd sent her, and faced my fat. When I took the photo, my weight was 295.5 pounds. I then spent the next three weeks binging and lounging depressedly on my couch, not even working. So I'm sure by the time I actually motivated myself, I'd hit at least 300. But I didn't think to take another photo, so we'll got with 295.5 as my official starting weight. As of today, I weight 283.5, so that's a loss of 12 pounds. Not too shabby.

There are a number of things I need to be careful I don't succumb to now, though. First, I need to absolutely not start jumping on the scale all the time, because I know how that affects my little brain. Second, I didn't really try all that hard this month. I mean, I behaved most days, but I had the pizza incident, and overall I had six days that were less than perfect. And I don't expect perfection from myself, but I need to be sure I don't start thinking "if I lost twelve pounds in a month and screwed around that much, I can have a burrito today too, what's the harm!" It's very easy for me to fall in to that kind of thinking.

I'm not sure if the horrible job is going to make that better or worse, honestly. The fact that they have some restaurant come in to sell lunch and dinner just about every day will probably make it a challenge. Also the fact that it's two minutes from Perkins (which has that pie I so love) and Olive Garden, and it's five minutes from McDonald's. I'm planning to take lunch every day (at least as long as I can manage to stand their overbearing crap), but I know a day will come when I'm pissed the fuck off and I'm going to want to spend my lunch hour -- or right after work -- chowing down on some breadsticks and pasta. Of course, this job will pay my bills and nothing else, including food, so I suppose that won't be much of an issue.

I'm sort of surprised I had as few "bad" days as I did. In the past, one day of carb gorging usually ended up as several more before I reined myself in. I think some of it is that in the past, I've usually tried to squeeze in the kind of crap I shouldn't be eating, just within my "carb limit." And/or I've been really strict about counting things -- like weighing my carrots and stuff to try to account for every gram, which just gets wearing and time-consuming and makes me obsessive, which never leads anywhere good.

This time, I've been more relaxed. Yeah, sometimes I've still eaten stuff I shouldn't (hello, pizza), or I've used up all my carbs for the day (not that I'm adhering to a strict number) by having a burger with the bun. But generally speaking when I say more relaxed, I mean that I'm not obsessing over "I can only have half a pear because a full pear is 25g of carb!" or "I can only have a half a cup of carefully measures strawberries!" or "I can only have six baby carrots!"

Yesterday I just had a glass of milk before I left for the horrible job, just to have something in my stomach. For lunch I had some grape tomatoes, some baby carrots, a chicken breast and swiss sandwich on a sandwich thin, and a nectarine. I had some more milk in the afternoon, and was planning on cooking some chicken for dinner but instead I fell asleep. Not the best day, I probably didn't eat enough, but I didn't wake up hungry. I'll probably pack about the same lunch for today, maybe some strawberries instead of the nectarine. Or instead of the sandwich I might have my meat and cheese on NutThin crackers. Since I'm already up I might scramble some eggs for breakfast ... or not. The idea sort of nauseates me. I'm weird about eggs.

I've been eating a lot of fruit; I should probably eat more vegetables but god, do I dislike them. I like baby carrots; every once in a while I can deal with a salad, but not often enough to buy lettuce because it goes bad; I like tomatoes (of course not technically a vegetable, and I only like certain kinds anyway); sometimes I like broccoli and cauliflower; I can do green beans if they're just barely cooked so they're still crunchy. That's about it. I try to broaden my horizons and try squash and radishes and stuff and I just hate them all! They all taste really bitter to me.

Ugh. An hour until I have to get dressed and go to that job. I should probably shower.

Woke up empty.

I'm curiously numb today. Not sad about the lack of response to a pathetic text sent in the middle of the night. Not happy about ... whatever. Not angry about anything. I am full of nothing. And a pizza made on a low carb tortilla, and a bunch of water. And some cantaloupe.

Hey look, numb has been replaced by miserable. I think I spoke too soon yesterday about not binging because I knew it wouldn't help, because right now the idea of hopping in the car and scooting through McDonald's for chicken nuggets, french fries, and a chocolate-dipped cone sounds like the best thing ever. What will it solve? Nothing. Will it make me feel better? No. Why do it? I don't know exactly. It just sounds like a really good idea right now. I've been trying to distract myself from feeling rotten with tv, books, games, Facebook, texting friends (tried to get someone to go out with me but nobody wanted to), and just general stuff but it isn't happening.

I keep feeling my fat, reminding myself that it's more squishy than it used to be, and that there's a little bit of a hollow in front of my hips, which is the first place I ever show any weight loss. Also, the right straps on my biggest bras keep slipping down, which means I've lost a little weight around my ribcage too. I don't really feel anything about this any of it, though. I don't get any satisfaction or excitement from it. No sense of pride or anything. It makes it hard to stay motivated, or even not actively unmotivated, which is probably a more accurate description of how I am anyway.

I cooked dinner at home; in fact I haven't left my house today. It wasn't as relaxing as it sounds though because, y'know, I'm crazy.

Car comfort, hula hoops.

The car I'm currently driving is ... well .. it's a car. It gets me from point A to point B. Of course, it died in rather spectacular ways twice which is one reason I'm jobless now, but anyway. I've hated driving it the whole time I've had it, but the last couple of weeks I've been hating it less. I thought it was just because I wasn't spending two hours a day in it anymore like I was when I was working. But today I realized it's something else. See, it's a two-door car, with really long doors, so the seat belt has to stretch really far. Also, the steering wheel doesn't go up very far. And I have short legs. And the clutch has to be pushed it really far to shift. And I have a fat belly. So when you add all that up, you have my abdomen being smashed by a seatbelt not long enough because I have the seat so far forward, and the steering wheel rubbing on my stomach because it's so big.

Well, whatever I've lost, water or fat in whatever amount, is just enough so that I can drive without the wheel rubbing my stomach, and I can even breathe while doing it. Amazing.

Been thinking about getting a hula hoop. I have a nutty hippie aunt who hula hoops to live music on stage and stuff, and she said it really helped her feel better - that it's hard to be bummed out while hula hooping! God knows I need some amusement.

Struggling on.

I was going to at least go for a walk last night, but then I came across something that really upset me and I ended up having a mini breakdown and just going to bed. Still not too happy today. Not too happy is an understatement. I'm fucking depressed. So far I haven't made any poor choices foodwise, mostly because I'm too bummed out to care much about food or anything else. Yeah, it's about the ex. Yeah, it's pathetic.

Plus I know tomorrow is pretty much going to be a disaster. I'll be spending tomorrow with people I don't want to spend time with (one of whom I actively hate), at a place I don't want to be at, doing something I don't want to do -- and I'll be surrounded by food I shouldn't eat. Which is not to say I'm throwing in the towel immediately. I'll have a good breakfast (eschewing the famous cinnamon rolls at the place we're going, sigh), and I'll do the best I can with dinner (I have no idea what my aunt is making, my luck lasagne or something). Not sure what I'll be able to find at a freaking rodeo/fair/carnival that would remotely okay, plus frozen pina coladas are going to be enticing. I don't even drink normally but certain people who will be present tomorrow awaken the urge. Only plus; outside means I can keep my sunglasses on so people won't really be able to see my expression. That'll make faking happy -- which is absolutely necessary with that side of my family -- a little easier. Wish I'd had an excuse to not go. BTW, the person I hate isn't related to me. It's the skanky chain-smoking drunken bitch who's latched on to my father.

The chunk of fat in front of my ribs feels bigger and like it's sticking out more today. It feels discouraging. But I know it's just a feeling. It's because I'm not as bloated anymore, so overall I'm more jiggly; also the first place I lose any weight, even a few ounces, is in front of my hips. So basically there's just a little less support overall for that chunk of fat. I hate that particular chunk of fat. It sticks out over my waistband and it makes my (larger than average and very fabulous) boobs look smaller. I don't like that. They deserve more attention. I have a lot of clothes that, when they fit, draw attention to my rack, so it would be nice to wear them again. Not that I really have anywhere to do so.

I haven't done any work on my story. It's really hard, when swamped under with misery, to try to create something that feels anything other than miserable. Not to mention that crying until you puke makes it hard to type. One day at a time ....

Probably too much sugar; Victoria's Secret.

One of the benefits of working at a corporate restaurant is that certain things are always pre-weighed and measured. So when I decided I wanted some potatoes tonight, I knew if I ordered the red potatoes they were a certain amount that I could budget for. One of the negatives of working at a corporate restaurant if that we have eighty varieties of sauces. So the cook screwed up and put the wrong sauce on my breadless "sandwich," and I was so hungry that I didn't notice until I was halfway through it. The sauce in question has a lot of sugar in it. Damn! Hopefully it didn't do too much damage; I hardly had any carbs at all the rest of the day.


After my post last night, I started thinking about why I dislike Victoria's Secret so much. I mean, I think most of their ads are fucking retarded. And it drives me crazy how none of the women in their ads feature women actually wearing bras that fit instead of ones small enough to make their tits burst out. And their anorexic-looking models make me want to barf. But when I started actually thinking about it, I realized that my dislike of it actually started with something ages ago.

Long ago, probably when I was 19, I went to VS trying to find something sexy to wear for my boyfriend. I was mildly fat at that time; I don't really remember what clothing size I was wearing back then, or how much I weighed. I trotted in there and grabbed some bras in the size I normally wore. But when I tried them on, they wouldn't even go around me! I couldn't even get them hooked! I tried going up a band size, but that still didn't work. I got irritated and left, thinking their sizes much be screwed up. If I wore a 36, and their 38 wouldn't even go around me, then obviously they bras much run smaller. And I didn't really think about it anymore after that; I kept buying bras at Wal-Mart, and then at Lane Bryant.

Thing is .... it wasn't until I worked at Lane Bryant, in 2006, that I actually was measured. I'd been wearing a 36C since I was 15, and I actually needed (by then) a 40D! So of course those bras at VS wouldn't fit me. They were the wrong cup size (my actual breast size hasn't changed with weight), and possibly the wrong band size. Plus, their were molded cups with underwires, when I'd been wearing basically sports bras. But I'd never tried other styles, so I didn't really figure that out. Seems stupid in retrospect. But I never thought about it! I just disliked Victoria's Secret .... turns out for no reason.

Kind of excited now about the idea of being able to get something there! Although I looked at the bra I was talking about yesterday and it was actually a 42 rather than a 40, so I'm still quite a while away from that.

Ho-hum day, uncomfortable underwires, daily walking.

Nothing particularly exciting happened today. My eating was fine; I drank a lot; I did forget to take my vitamins.

I may need to go down a bra size again; the one I was wearing today kept jabbing me in the armpit because it was slightly too big. But I also wore it yesterday too, so maybe it'd just stretched. That's kind of what I'm hoping for. New bras are expensive and a pain in the ass anyway. Not to mention, right now I'm wearing a 40. If I'm really already down to a 38, then it may not take long to get to a 36. After that is where it gets scary ... because 36 is the lowest band size Lane Bryant carries, and I have no idea where to get a bra smaller than a 36. Other than Victoria's Secret which I am reallllly not a fan of. But I shouldn't even think about that now, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Once I get my almighty tax return, I think I'll buy a pedometer. I'm quite curious about how much I walk every day at work. The last time I had one, when I was working at Lane Bryant, I was walking five miles a day!

Wardrobe; uncomfortable hope.

Yep, that's my wardrobe. Took up the entire width of my bed.

The other night I dumped out my entire wardrobe on to my bed and started sorting it. My entire wardrobe takes up a four-drawer dresser with two shelves on top, two closets and their two shelves, three 18 gallon plastic tubs, and 25 gallon plastic tub! I was just tired of reaching into my clothes and pulling out things that didn't fit.

So I sorted them in to four categories: fits now, almost fits, almost-almost fits, and 'yeah fucking right.' Oh, and goodwill. I might go through that last one again and pick out some things I might be able to sell on ebay. Some of it is horrible old clothes, but some is stuff like a pair of size 20 average jeans. I may be a size 20 again soon, but I will still have short legs. I seriously don't even know where I got those. And I'm never going to get around to taking them to a tailor to have them shortened!

As part of this, I tried on a lot of clothing that I'd either forgotten about completely (seriously, there was a denim skirt in there that I have absolutely no memory of buying!) or just hadn't tried in a while. And damn, was that blow to my self-esteem. I knew about 3/4 of my wardrobe was slightly tight; but it turns out it's more like 90% is either a little tight or just doesn't fit at all.

And it's not a bunch of  'skinny clothes' either, from high school or something. I got rid of most of those several years ago when I decided I wasn't going to put myself through the diet rollercoaster anymore. These are mostly clothes I bought when I worked at Lane Bryant. They're already fat clothes. And it did really bum me out that night, made me feel quite hopeless. And that's when I realized that I was actually starting to hope that I might really truly lose a lot of weight.

Fuck. I've been down this road before. Multiple, multiple times. There's really no reason for me to think that this will be the time that I actually get skinny and stay that way. The statistics are absolutely not in my favor, and I know that. I didn't start out trying to become skinny; I just wanted to wear my cute clothes again. I feel like I'm setting myself up for failure by even pondering taking it further than wearing my favorite lacy corset top again.

In a rather contradictory way, I'm looking forward to 2/10, which is when I'm going to properly weigh myself.  I know that daily weighs mess with my head; I know that weekly weighs are almost worse because what if that one particular day I've still got a gutful of food, period water retention, whatever. But a month seems like a good number.

Vitamins make me hungry; comfort food.

I took my first dose of all my vitamins last night with my dinner. Strangely, about an hour after eating, I got really hungry again. My stomach was literally growling! Happened again today. I can't imagine what it is about my vitamins that would make me hungry again so fast.


Something happened at work tonight that made me really freaking angry. The combination of already being hungry and being pissed made me start thinking evil little thoughts. Thoughts like ... "chocolate, I haven't had chocolate in weeks" and "it wouldn't hurt to order pizza, just one night of pizza wouldn't do anything" and then "I know food won't fix this but I still really really want some cake."

If I had stayed at work, I honestly don't know what I would have eaten. But I was so sick of everything in that place that I just left. I came home, albeit by a longer route because I was still debating with myself if I was stopping somewhere for something. I knew if I got home, I would be too lazy to go back out for junk. So I pointed the car home, where I ate some carrots and the half a chicken breast I had left from yesterday, and I drank some Diet Orange Crush and watched television.

I'm still royally pissed. But I don't want chocolate anymore. Or not much anyway.

I also feel like getting on the scale for some sort of 'validation', which is stupid because my worth has nothing to do with my size and that's an old fucked-up attitude talking.

I've been noticed; vitamins.

A woman at work turned to me today and said, "I meant to tell you last night, you look like you've lost weight." Bloody hell. If she noticed, that means the next time I see my mother or father they'll have noticed too, and I'm just not up for that conversation.

I know for most people it's a compliment. But I just hate hearing it. Before it was because I was ashamed because it implied they were aware of how fat I was. Which was silly, because how could anyone not see? So it's not that now. Maybe because I don't know how to respond to it. I try to just say thanks, even though I don't really think it's a compliment (but I know most people think it is). But people just don't like to leave it at that, they want to know if I really have, how much, etc. I find it all very tiresome.


My Coromega, potassium, and magnesium arrived today! I also went to the store and got some vitamin E. I've never taken that before; but I figured I could use the extra anti-oxidants. Especially since I struggle to eat enough produce. I like fruits; I like a very limited set of vegetables. I keep trying to like other ones -- I keep trying peas, sprouts, zucchini, squash, blah blah blah. The only vegetables I really like are broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, mushrooms, tomatoes (I know, technically fruit), green beans if barely cooked, and limited amounts of lettuce and baby spinach. I've always been a really picky eater, which is why I think I need to take a fistful of pills every morning! I'll also need to get a new bottle of multivitamins -- I didn't realize how old mine were, I thought I'd got them sometime last year but they expired in May of last year. Ack.


Made garlic parmesan chicken fingers tonight; I'd have preferred to bake them but haven't gotten my oven fixed yet, so I fried them in a bit of olive oil instead. Love those monounsaturated fats. I also used a couple of tablespoons of flour since I didn't have any almond meal which I'd usually use. Haven't made those in a very long time, forgot how delicious they were!

Ketosis and a jiggly pannus.

When I woke up this morning, I thought I must have been sleeping with my mouth open. I had a strange stale taste in my mouth. But it didn't go away after brushing my teeth, or even eating. It was starting to bug me. Then, while I was wandering around at work, it suddenly dawned on me: that yucky taste in my mouth is from ketosis. So that tells me two things: I'm burning fat, and I'm not drinking enough water or I wouldn't be tasting it.

Drinking enough water has been a struggle for me, mostly because of the cold. When I'm at work, I'm fine. But at home, where it's cold because I'm trying to keep my gas bill down, I don't want to be drinking ice water. And warm water hurts my teeth (weird, right? Makes drinking hot tea during a cold miserable!). So I pour myself a glass, and then it takes me a really long time to drink it. Sipping it isn't working; I might have to resort to chugging.


One of the first things I notice when I start losing weight is that my belly fat starts feeling really squishy. I generally feel softer all over. Some of it is de-bloating right at first, but I think so of it is shrinking fat cells too. It's interesting; usually my belly fat is very solid, and doesn't wiggle around when I walk. Then I get these little hollows right in front of my hip bones. And for some reason that makes my hanging fat even jigglier, I guess because there's less securing it to the fat higher up.

Had another day of not eating a whole lot; I got my protein in, and ate some carrots and kiwi because I knew I needed some produce, but I always find it difficult to eat when I'm not hungry.

I don't know how people do it; caving to the scale; vitamin E.

Yesterday, I think I ate maybe 700 calories. I just wasn't hungry. And today, I woke up feeling absolutely terrible! Not hungry; when my blood sugar is regulated, I actually rarely get hungry. I just felt ... off, like I was getting sick. I felt run down, lethargic, generally crummy. With how I was feeling, I really don't know how people can eat that way on a daily basis -- I don't know how I did it in sixth/seventh grade (I don't know what my calorie intake was, just that I was eating once a day. I probably would have progressed to full anorexia if my mother hadn't been paying attention. Anyway.). I made sure to eat a little more today, so hopefully tomorrow I'll feel better.


I dragged my scale out from under my kitchen table tonight; I guess I wanted a little reassurance. My jeans felt tighter today than they did yesterday, and because my carbs and food in general were very low I know it's not an actual gain. In fact, from a couple other physical symptoms I know I'm ovulating and that's when I start retaining water every month, so I really shouldn't have given it a second thought. But I did, and I dragged out the scale. It's the end of the day, I'm bloating, and I was wearing clothes, so I know it's not really an accurate reading--which is why I'm not updating the side bar. Still, it read 266, so at least nine pounds down in two weeks. I'm going to try not to let the curiosity get to me again for a couple more weeks.


I finally found a brand online of tocopherol/tocotrienol vitamin E, but damn is it expensive! Going to check my local vitamin store before I order it, just in case they have another brand that's not so pricey. I could get regular vitamin E, which is to say the d-alpha-tocopherol type, but it seems silly to only take half the compounds of an antioxidant.

Jumping the gun.

I still haven't gone near the scale, but after discovering that my work shirt can go over my head, I pulled out another shirt of mine. It's a lovely lavender button-up, which is a great color for me; it has quite flattering seaming. The last time I tried to wear it, my stomach pushed at the buttons, the shoulders were uncomfortably tight, and the arms were torturous. Tonight, even though I shouldn't have tried it because I haven't been at this long, I pulled it out. It's not entirely comfortable; still a little tight across the tummy. The shoulders fit again; the arms fit, although barely.

In this case, it didn't do any harm to try on an old piece of clothing. It was encouraging. But I remember other times, in the past, when I would pull out an old shirt or something and feel totally despondent because it didn't fit. I'm hoping to be able to avoid that this time; after several years of working on my mental and emotional responses to clothing and fat, I think I'll be able to. Now if something doesn't fit, I'm able to say the clothing is the wrong size for me, rather than I'm the wrong size for the clothing. So hopefully if I get this urge to pull out some item later on and it's still uncomfortable, I won't throw end up on that emotional downslide that was so familiar in years past.

I've just ordered some Coromega; I know that omega-3 fats as very important, but I honestly cannot stand fish. I eat salmon maybe twice a year, and shrimp once. I keep trying to like the nasty stuff, and it just doesn't work for me. So, I'll pay $25 for a three month supply of orange pudding-y omega-3 supplement. It's supposed to help with insulin sensitivity among other things. I also ordered a bottle of potassium, as moisture got in mine and ruined it. And, after reading that magnesium oxide isn't a very absorptive chelate form, I ordered a new bottle with a better form.

I've re-read my "diet bible", so to speak, and there's an entire chapter in these on magnesium. I know if I forget to take my extra Mg for too long, I start getting migraines again. I also know it has a lot of uses in the body, including nerve transmission. What I had forgotten, or never noticed on previous reads, was that magnesium may help with chronic fatigue syndrome (that's an older study, just an example). I don't know that I have chronic fatigue; I've never been diagnosed with it. The times I've brought it up with a doctor, I've been told to lose weight. And I can practically hear people all across the world agreeing with that.

The thing is, my lack of energy started at a very particular point in time. I contracted mono in late 2000, and since then I have functioned in a state of constant tiredness. I was fat long before that; when I lost a significant amount of weight after that, it didn't help. I'm sure losing weight wouldn't hurt, but I really believe that something was damaged by that damned virus. But try getting a doctor to see past your weight! The first one I mentioned it to told me I must be diabetic; nope. Then it must be my thyroid; nope. Then I must have sleep apnea! Oh wait, except I don't! Anemia? Nope. And no, none of those are self-dismissed conditions, I had the medical tests.

(I had a doctor tell me once that the reason I couldn't breathe through my nose was because of my weight. If I thought he would remember me, I would take my CT scan and allergy test results and shake them in his stupid face -- turns out I'm allergic to 70/72 allergens I was tested for, and I had a deviated septum, a narrowed nasal passage [leading to my nostrils collapsing and blocking airflow], grossly enlarged turbinate bones, and a formation called a concha bullosa in the right side of my sinus. That surgery was the best thing I ever did for myself!)

Anyway. I'm going to try the magnesium and see if it helps. I no longer have insurance so I can't get an intracellular magnesium concentration test to confirm, so we'll just have to see how it goes. It would be really nice to feel like sleeping actually did anything for me.

I take it back!

My jeans that I wrote about a few days ago, that were uncomfortable, fit fine now. Thank god, since I don't like the Lane Bryant Right Fit jeans, my old pair developed a hole along the zipper seam, and the nearest LB outlet that carries the old style is an hour away. And I've not found jeans that are comfortable and look good in my size anywhere else.

My work shirt is a button-up, and I can now pull it on and off over my head without undoing the buttons. That's particularly handy at the moment, since my shirt lost a button and the replacement buttons I bought are slightly larger, so it takes a while to force them through the buttonholes!

Beef and boobs.

I rarely properly cook at home -- pretty much only on my days off, actually. The other days I have snacks/odd composition meals (cashews, cheese, and baby carrots; sliced turkey, milk, and kiwi; etc.) and then have steak or chicken or whatever at work after my shift. But today was a day off (thank GOD), so I got in my grannymobile and slipped and slid to the store, where I wandered the aisles of cellophaned meats trying to decide what to have for dinner.

I was nearly derailed at one point -- the meat department is next to the bakery, and I saw croissants. Fuck me, do I love croissants. Had the bakery been open, I probably would have bought one, because one wouldn't have been a problem carb-wise. But it was after 9:30, so the only available flaky goodness came in batches of five. And I know without a doubt I'd have eaten them all within the next twelve hours. They're just a trigger food for me. So I walked away and went in search of bloody, dripping meat.

(Sidenote: Someday I'm going to bake my own croissants. They're a massive pain in the ass, but I like a baking challenge.)

I ended up getting these awesome 3/4 pound packages of very thinly sliced "sandwich steak" for $2.50 each -- I love the clearance meat bin. I fried one of the packages up in olive oil, cooked some LC Dreamfields penne (great stuff!), and coated it all in roasted garlic alfredo sauce and parmesan. Delicious!

ETA: Since Allan decided to make a post specifically about my dinner, I thought I'd clarify that when I said "all" I was being figurative. I was not literally saying I had 3/4 of  pound of meat for dinner -- I mentioned the size of the package only because it was a good deal. Even if I did eat all of it, that's 450 calories because that was the raw weight. Oh holy Jesus, I'm going to explode and start destroying cities with my fatz.

One thing that drives me crazy about weight loss (or gain) is how little it takes to change my bra size. I always seem to lose or gain inches around my ribcage first, and it takes less than ten pounds to alter my bra size. I spent today hitching my tits back into my favorite bra, which I think I'm going to have to pack away because the girls are falling out the bottom. Right now that's not such a big deal, since I have a stockpile of bras from my days working at LB (last count was 19!).

This one is a 42D; I have in my collection 42DD (in a certain style that runs small), 40DD and 40D bras. Below that, I'll have to start buying new ones. That ought to be interesting. I haven't been below a 40D in .... well, I don't actually know since I wasn't properly fitted until I worked at LB. But I'm sure it's been a long time. I'm not sure how my actual breast tissue will respond to weight loss either; the one time I dipped below 200 pounds I don't think that I lost any size. But I don't really remember, but I hope that's correct. I'm vain enough to want to keep my meat balloons.

On loss being noticed.

After three years of knowing me, my friends at work can't help but notice my eating has changed drastically. They can hardly fail to notice the lack of boneless hot wings and the replacement of carrots for chips with my spinach dip. But I haven't told anyone I'm dieting. What I've said is that I'm cutting out wheat to see if it helps my allergies. Which isn't a total untruth; I may have a wheat sensitivity. But I just don't want to go into the diet thing.

For one thing, they've all heard my spiels about being fine the way I am -- not because I walk around looking for ways to bring it up, but from the kinds of conversations that come up in three years of association. (Usually it's got something to do with my use of the very word fat: "Excuse me .... c'mon, I'm a fat girl, I can't fit through there!" "You're not fat! Don't talk about yourself that way!" "HAHAHA! I weigh 275 pounds, I'm fat. It's just a fact." etc.) So to start talking about dieting, well, that's going to come across as hypocritical. I don't feel hypocritical, because I know my reasons; but I just don't want to try to explain it all.

I also don't want to get sucked into the conversational quagmire that is "diet talk". You know, the conversations that go in endless circles about calories or fat grams or carbs and "good" days or "bad days" or "cheating" or whatever ... women use it as a bonding mechanism, but I really don't want to do that. It's not my actual friends I'm talking about here, but coworkers in general. I also don't want to know what Cindy Lou thought was the greatest weight-loss trick in the book, because after my many diets in the past I've heard them all -- and so many of them seem to skirt that eating disordered line.

Of course, if it goes on for any length of time, change will occur, and people will notice. I'm hoping it'll be slow enough that people won't start asking questions. At my size, small losses aren't very noticeable, so this ought to be doable. If necessary, I'll continue wearing my larger clothes longer than necessary to mask it. Because I fucking hate that "have you lost weight?" question! I hate it!

For one thing, it's so often paired with "you look great!" Implying that "looking great" can only be a function of weight loss chaps my ample ass. Also, it's nobody else's business if I'm losing weight. This is my personal skin, and what goes on under it doesn't involve anyone I don't choose to involve. Also, there's the fact that people, or more specifically women, feel the need to keep talking about it! If they'd just say "Have you lost weight? Yes? Okay." that would be one thing.

But instead it's more of the conversational quagmire -- have you lost weight? that's so great! I'm so fat! I need to lose weight too! how much have you lost? how long did it take? what are you doing? oh I tried that once and it worked/didn't work/made me sprout tentacles out of my ears. My aunt's cousin's sister's roommate lost like 200 pounds though and she looks great but it was just so hard and I thought that Weight Watchers would be better so I signed up for that but the points thing is really confusing and I have this book but what if something isn't listed or what if it's wrong like I had cheese enchilladas yesterday and they were in the book but what if this place's recipe was different how do I really know how many points it is and then I got on the scale today and it said I only lost a half a pound and I was SO GOOD yesterday so there must have been something in those enchilladas because everything else was perfect and it just upsets me so much and I know my Weight Watchers coach said to only weigh myself once a week but it's just so hard and I want to know what to expect when I go to the meeting because I don't want to start crying in front of everyone especially the women who've got those neat pins because they've actually KEPT it off and I just don't know how they do it it's so hard but they're just so inspirational and I want that to be me one day because you know my mother/father/some relative died of heart disease/diabetes/falling on a bear trap and of course you know that happened because he/she was so fat and I just don't want MY children growing up thinking it's okay to be so gross and fat like I am I just can't believe I let myself end up here!!11!!

You know I'm only partially exaggerating! And honestly it's just boring to me. So I try to avoid it. That's not to say there aren't constructive, quality conversations; I wouldn't even bother to look at any WL blogs if there weren't. But the average conversation about weight loss? Please.

So, here's hoping I can hide it and keep appearing fatter than I am! Not often you hear that, huh?

I was able to wear my one-size-down jeans, the 22s, to work today. They're not truly comfortable, like I said yesterday; when I sit down I still feel a little like my guts are being squashed up in to my ribcage -- but they're fine as long as I'm standing up, so they were great for work.

To journal? To weigh?

Every diet plan ever tells you to measure your food, keep a food diary, and watch the numbers carefully. I've done that in the past; usually I use DietPower, which I think is an excellent program. However, after a couple of days of careful tracking, I start to be obsessive. I start fiddling with nutrition graphs, watching the weight graph incessantly, and generally I become neurotic about it. It occupies all my thinking.

This time, I haven't been keeping a record of anything. After years of various stages of low-carb eating, I know roughly what the carb content of the things I eat are. I know if I eat an ounce of cheese and have two cups of milk for breakfast, and then have chicken salad on romaine for lunch, and finish my day with lunch meat, cheese, and mayonnaise (today's food), the only appreciable carb amount was in the milk. If I have a kiwi or some baby carrots with dinner, I know there's a little more there. The exact number isn't really important to me.

Conversely, last week when my father wanted to go to our favorite Chinese restaurant and I had pan-fried dumplings and cheese wontons, I knew I was over my target. So there's no point to knowing the exact amount; it didn't really matter. What was important was that my next meal was the appropriate composition, and the next, and the next.

After my intial weighing, I also shoved my scale into the back corner under my kitchen table where I just won't see it often. No matter how I try to tell myself that daily numbers aren't important, only long-term trends, etc., that stupid number still upsets me whenever I make a weight-loss attempt. If it's higher by a pound, it's depressing. If it's lower, it's not low enough. For whatever reason, I'm not able to frequently weigh myself without edging closer to those disordered eating tendencies I've run in to before. So I'm just not going to do it. Oh, at some point my curiosity will get the best of me and I'll jump on the damned thing. But until that point, I'm not going to track it. I know where I started; hopefully I won't know exactly where I am weight-wise for a long time. I am going to take pictures, but not post them -- without comparison photos it seems like pointless voyeurism!

So this time I haven't been doing any tracking of anything. I may later, if I find myself often making choices that don't fit with the plan or if I find I'm not getting results. But so far, this approach is working. My size smaller jeans aren't comfortable enough yet to wear, but at least I don't have to lie down to button them anymore. The weird feeling of fullness is also a little less, but that may be due to simple water loss. We'll see.