I’m going through one of those little sticky patches that crop up in life from time to time – where everything feels too hard and I just want to find a quiet place to sleep the next few months/years away. Work is pretty awful – I like what I do and I love the area I work in but the atmosphere is appalling, morale is rock-bottom and I work for a psycho (joking apart, I actually DO think she’s a sociopath) who shows all the signs of preparing to knife me in the back at my appraisal next week. I don’t deserve this but I am ridiculously thin-skinned and take all criticism very much to heart so I think I’ll struggle to shrug it off. And I’m worried I’ll cry. She’s actually forced out 3 people in the past who’ve left to get away from her and although I don’t want to take that route anyway, there isn’t that option in today’s fearful and depressed climate.
I could do with my weight playing ball then. I could do with the pound that I put ON last week disappearing and taking a couple of lardy pals with it. I could do with feeling optimistic that I will have things to wear over the summer and that the winter’s start of looking for a wedding dress will be a joyous occasion rather than a time of bitter self-recrimination and self-hatred.
Every year I get my summer wardrobe out and pack up my winter wardrobe and I carefully fold up stuff that I’ve not worn because it’s been a little too tight and think to myself, what a shame, this will probably be too big next year and I won’t get to wear it because this will be the year that I lose the weight, I can feel it, I can taste it. What’s different about this year? Well, I think that if it’s not this year, it’s never going to happen. I want this year to be the year I leave Porky behind me, that I leave my size 16s behind and shoot through the 14s to the other side (where the perfect wedding dress lies in wait for me, ready to reduce bf to admiration and adoration).
This is why I get disproportionately upset when I think I’m doing everything right, only to find out that an innocent fresh Itsu soup with noodles, chicken and veg turns out to be somewhere between 8-9.5 syns. Even the discrepancy upsets me. But that’s the same as a quarter bottle of wine. If I drank wine I’d know I was doing something dicey but to be tripped up by a so-called healthy soup when I didn’t even especially want it but thought it was a virtuous choice – well, if I hadn’t run out of breath, I would be very indignant indeed.
This weekend – chilly but sunny Suffolk and at least one walk. And fretting about the sensation of a knife sliding in my back for Monday. And trying not to find any false foodie friends LIKE CHICKEN VEGETABLE NOODLE BROTH. Humph.