Hello, I am still alive
It's been bloody months since my last journal-type confession.
The highlights of the past few months have included rejoining weight watchers, after I was told that I don't ovulate. Because Nic and I would like a baby, I had to have a fertility test. Since I am overweight, or at least that's the doctor's present reasoning, I don't ovulate and therefore, need to lose at least 10% of my body weight.
I don't mind weight watchers. I have just had a weekend of ignoring it - long story! - but by and large weight watchers suits me. I have to remark on something I've noticed and I include myself in this. When you start talking about diets, everyone tells you which one is the best. iPhone apps, the Cambridge diet, slim fast, slimming world, the cabbage soup diet, low carb diets, the Atkins diet, the grapefruit diet, diet pills... All of these have been recommended to me. It's lovely that people want to help but holy Ryvita, let me do the diet I want. I go to WW because, for me, it works. That's it. I don't have the energy to do calories, but I can do points.
Now, the worst thing I can comprehend, it the Cambridge and 500 calorie diet. Essentially, in the 500 cals diet, you eat normally but on 2-3 days per week, you only eat 500 cals per day. This is supposed to be brilliant, and that might be fine, but, personally, I can't cope with feeling like I'm punishing myself. If I am hungry, feeling a bit fainty, can't eat what I want... Then I am miserable. I will, rather inexplicably, burst into tears at any given moment. Turns out that lack of food outs my mental state into a place normal reserved for Morrissey and Eastenders.
The issue is that when you recount this to people, even enormous people who should have some mother-dieting empathy, they look at you as if to say, "you're so shit, you have no will, no control and you are, in fact, retarded. Here, have a kit kat." Losing weight is hard work. It sucketh. So why don't we lighten up and give people a break? Let people do the diet they want. Encourage them for doing it. Stop feeding them cake...
Actually, that last thing is an issue...
My mother has become a sinister, channel-4-documentary-able, sneaky, creepy feeder. Since I started WW my mother has been on a mission to seek, lard up and destroy. She has made weekly cakes, scones, pies, bought cakes, biscuits, macaroons, ice creams, pies and many, many other non-diety things, which she offers me and, thus, I often give in to. I feel rather... Sabotaged.
In other news, Nic and I found ourselves in Glasgow railway station on Friday. It's rather a lovely place but it was rather full of nutters. In the space of ten minutes we saw:
1. A girl with black lipstick. Goth all you like but black lipstick always looks like you've eaten something unpleasant.
2. A granny dressed head to foot in purple with bright f-off purple hair. I rather loved her in a strange way.
3.a girl with leopard skin trousers pulled up to her armpits.
4. A girl in purple, Lycra, shiny jeggings.
5. Another granny in a quilted leopardskin jacket and safari trews.
And...
6. A young who sat next to us with smelly breath which would repel dung beetles.
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