Friday, 6 July 2012

On-again, off-again.

My on-again, off-again relationship with my scales (my several sets, if I'm going to be completely honest. A set for at uni, a set for at home and then extra sets so I can aggregate. God, that's both embarrassing to admit and a liiiiittle bit depresso; at one point I had more scales than, I don't know, BRAIN CELLS, and I'm sure that's not how it's meant to be), is heading towards being off-again. I need my scales to keep grounded, I'm a 1.6m long magnet for paranoia and taking away my scales gives me another thing to be paranoid about- after a few days without them, I get pretty sure that I must have gained a good load of kilo. Like my scales are the only thing keeping my weight at a certain point. You'd think a person ought to be able to tell from their reflection whether they've suddenly inflated, but I'm not the biggest fan of mine and have learnt not to spend too long dwelling on it if I want to be productive.

So that's why I keep 'em around, but the problem with that is probably quite obvious from the fact that I own so many sets- I'm not just a long magnet (long in the sense of fridge magnets, anyway. I'm not in denial about what a shortarse I am, hahaha) for paranoia, but also for obsession. So when I'm weighing myself constantly and my weight fluctuates by 100g or, God forbid, even more, as human bodies do, I then despair and it gets a bit pathetic and I'm liable to take to my bed for a few days, which is a bladddddy terrible idea 'cause then I feel even worse. There's a productive type of wallowing, you have to give yourself a few days every now and again to get it out of you system, when summat kicks you back down. As long as it's scheduled and deserved, you're reyt, hahahahahaha. But it's not justifiable for a coupla hundred grams, so I've to strike some sort of balance.

So we're going on a break. I'm not throwing them out or any of that bullshit, I'm just having a few days (I reck that's about as long as I can go before I'm convinced I weigh 100kg) off them to sort out my bloody priorities. I have a tonne of shite to sift through, but writing about being stressed is almost as tedious as being stressed. Money, uni, weight, blah. Fukmalyyyyyf.

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