1. Why do people feel the need to say negative things about my weight?
Growing up as a fat kid I had my fair share of being teased mercilessly and in my pubescent years I truly enjoyed being given well-thought-out nicknames like, “Fats”. Fast-forward 20 years and I thought being on the other end of the scale would stop that hurtful shit, but apparently not.
When I was at home last week, I spent almost every day being made to promise my eighty-six-year-old grandmother that I wouldnt lose anymore weight. At random times during the day she would interject it into conversation, like we’d be chatting about her cute toilet paper with paw prints on it and suddenly she’d say to me, “I think you’ve lost enough weight. Promise me you won’t lose anymore, ok?”
I’ve also got an acquaintance who, every time he sees me, grills me about how much weight I’ve lost. He also likes to make comments like, ‘You’re wasting away!’ or “You’ve turned sideways and now I can’t see you!”
To be honest, I find the comments about my lack of weight more upsetting than anything I was ever told when I was fat. I’m sure most people don’t go around making random ‘fat’ comments to large people because they know it’s not nice, so why make random ‘too thin’ comments to people who have lost weight?
I’m no-where near uberly skinny. I still have a body fat percentage of around 28% and enough padding in my ass to feed a third-world country. I have a small build and would need to lose another 8kg (15lb) before I would be classed as ‘under-weight’.
Granted, some of the pics Master has taken and posted of me aren’t that flattering. In some positions I can look gaunt and a bit bony, but my body is still adjusting to the weight-loss and everything is sagging. I’d like it if he didn’t post those pics, but he posts what he wants, when he wants.
2. I’m supposed to be having a mystery shopper visit tomorrow, but I am so not in the mood for it.
My ‘holiday’ at home really wore me out mentally and jumping straight back into work fucked me up physically. My body is also so confused with the three-hour time difference and the daylight savings vs. no daylight savings zones so I’ve felt funny since I’ve been back. My period is late and I’m uberly pms-sy. Oh and have I mentioned I’ve been binge-eating since I got back and my body is aching from my gardening splurge? Not to mention that getting ready for a mystery shopper requires a couple of hours of hair removal, hair-doing and getting ready and the appointment is for 11am tomorrow which means I’m going to have to get up early…
Yeah. I’m definitely not in the mood for it.
I’d like to be a bit more excited about it for Master’s sake, but honestly, I just can’t drum up the enthusiasm in me.
3. One of my piercings really, fucking hurts.
It happens every time my period is due, but it’s like someone is digging a metal skewer into my private bits. They also get incredibly itchy and so I scratch, and that makes them sore and then itchy again, and so I scratch…rinse and repeat for a week every month.
Let’s also not forget that during my period is not the only time they hurt. They just hurt MORE during my period.
4. I’m trying to get back onto the weight-loss wagon, but it’s not working.
For the past eight weeks my weight has been yo-yoing around and it annoys me to no end that I just cannot reach the target weight I set for myself. It’s not that I can’t reach it physically. It’s very attainable, but some part of me just can’t make that final commitment to knuckle down and get there once and for all. Every time I lose a little bit I reward myself with, of course, food and then the cycle starts again. Normally I’m a very disciplined person and so it’s driving me insane that I’m just not doing what I need to do!! AHHHH!!
5. Slut wear is not practical.
On Friday I went to the garden centre in platform heels and an impossibly mini dress. Bending down to pick up plants exposed my beaver. Then, I nearly broke my neck walking on the slippery concrete after they’d just watered the plants.
After the garden centre came the fruit and veggie market. Firstly, you can’t hold a bulging basket of fruit & veg and pull your dress down at the same time as you weave between screaming children. Secondly, platform boots with stiletto heels won’t save your toes when you get run over by a guy wildly wielding a trolley of onion bags.
Then came the supermarket. Walking up and down the aisles with the teeny-tiny steps I needed to take totally buggered me. Then my stilettos kept sinking into the lawn as I tried to carry the shopping bags inside. It was stinking hot and by the time everything was unloaded and packed away, I just wanted to get naked.
Maybe that was Master’s plan all along.