Well, it wasn't really six weeks. I said before how being home was driving me mad? I missed my scales, too- that was a part of it. I know that's bad, but you know what? They make me happy more often than they upset me. And not because my weight is low (I am perfectly healthy and almost perfectly happy with that), but because IT'S NEVER AS BAD AS I THINK IT WILL BE. That's not really a metaphor for life or owt (although I'm sure you could apply it to shit, I don't mind if you want to), but I always imagine my weight as way higher than it is and get really freaked out over it, when I can't check for sure. But it's fine.
I got a taxi home from the train station, my brilliant flatmate met me from there and helped me lug my crap home (I have never mastered the art of travelling light. I mean, I like to take toys and valium on nights out) and then we had a catch up and then I weighed myself. All in that order, all very casual. You see what I'm doing? I'm taking the fact that I did not rush in and weigh myself, instead I spent a nice couple of hours chatting, as a victory. I'm very good at making everything I do a negative. My last therapist once told me that a person will look for signs to confirm what they think of themselves, thus digging themselves further into their thought processes. Which is very interesting and very true. Anyway, that got boring and now I'm taking victories.
I'm also taking the fact that I have gained 3kg and yet am still in the process of getting ready for a night out (I'm slightly tipsy, did you realise?) as a victory, too. I have decided that this year I am going to win everything. Victories all over the shop.