the power of numbers

For the first time since I started back at this, I've posted a gain. One pound exactly, close enough to the arrival of my Lady Days that it all makes sense, and yet it's sent me in a wee tailspin. When the scale goes up, I ask myself what I've done wrong, what I could do differently, if I'll ever make it, do I really want to, and so on, and on and on.

Never mind that it's normal. Never mind the old period, never mind a week in which I rested a lot, ate a a bit more than planned and generally speaking, did fine. None of that seems acceptable, whereas jumping to all kinds of conclusions (complete with booming Monster!Truck!Rally! voice in my head) does.

I don't know if I should indulge and explore all of this, or simply brush it off. Once upon a time, the weight I'm currently at would have been my goal. This is the weight I stopped at last time (and slowly rose above-- funny how that gain sounds so noble when phrased that way).

There's another voice that slips in when the stadium voice

Lazy! Girls! Gain!

is catching it's breath. It's kinda like my inner Jack Nicholson voice

It's just a fucking pound.

And it's just one week, and it really is just a snapshot. But it's stuff like this that makes a relatively reasonable person like myself get a little nutty.

So I keep asking myself, What can be done? And monster truck lady says

Stop!Eating!Now!Work!Out!Hard!

and Lady Nicholson (although I'd like to imagine her looking like Anjelica Huston) says

Cut some slack. You've done nothing wrong.

and I'd like to believe her, but it's so hard to muster compassion for myself.

It's one week in a lifetime of weeks. One pound in a lifetime of ups and downs and pounds. Perhaps this work, like the work I do on the inside of me, makes me weary. Yes, sometimes it does. But it's no different. Body and soul are one, despite my desires to see them as separate. How can I believe that if I "fix" my body, my mind and behaviour(s) will fall into place, effortlessly. It's one big, beautiful, tangled package. Knotted yarn, many shoestrings, all these powercords. I cannot isolate one, remove it, put it in order, without dealing (eventually) with all of them. Untangling is not for the impatient. And somedays, I don't possess the patience, somedays it's all about

Lose!Weight!Now!

and that's fine. I'll grant those Monster Truck Rallies of weight loss. But I don't have to go. I mean, can't I sit at home and watch it on TV? And I can sit on the floor with a big pile of knots and a hot cup of tea and I can slowly, casually untie stuff, right?

Right, baby, right.