So I've been on a diet for about a week now. I've been using Slim Fast, and following the directions as closely as possible. I've cut portions. I've increased my activity levels - not enough yet, but I'm working up towards working out every day. I've been counting calories consumed and calories burned, which, if I'm counting them right, I've been burning more than I've been consuming.
And I've done nothing but maintain my weight. Apparently 1200-1500 calories a day is what I was eating BEFORE I went on the diet. That seems to be the only way that I could be maintaining my unhealthy weight.
I don't want to crash diet, hell, I don't want to diet at all, I just want to make better choices and be more active, but I need results to feel like it's worth it. I know a week isn't much,but I should have at least lost a pound or something.
I feel like crap and I don't know what to do about it. I've looked into Weight Watchers, which I know people have sworn by, but I don't think I'm willing to pay $40 a month for someone to tell me what I already know - I need to exercise more and portion better.
I'm really at a loss for what to do. It doesn't help that it's raining out, so I can't go running.
Sometimes I really hate the way society makes me feel about my body.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Brain Gruel...
I haven't updated recently due to lack of sleep, which seems to rob me of coherent and interesting thoughts and leaves me with brain gruel - the same icky consistency of bean gruel, and just about as successful at conducting brain electricity.
I'll try to get something up here in the next day or two.
I'll try to get something up here in the next day or two.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Absence, Day 2.
Warning...long boring post ahead.
Zach flew out to California yesterday morning to pick up the new car for his job. We woke up at 3:30 AM (see previous post), gathered his things, jumped in the car, and headed to Waynesburg for gas and breakfast.
The food preparer at Sheetz decided that despite the fact that it was empty and we were the only ones who needed food, it was more imperative to plug in the food warmer and fry up some hashbrowns before she started preparing our food. Hashbrowns to non-existent customers is always a priority in my morning routine. To make up for us interrupting the holiest of all morning rituals, she decided my bagel didn't really need to be toasted. Which could have saved us two minutes, had we not already spent the last 20 minutes at the gas station, 10 minutes more than was planned.
We finally got on the interstate at 4:30 AM. About five miles down the road, traffic comes to a complete stop. Apparently there had been a bad wreck. I considered crossing the median, but the northbound lane that we were in was separated from the southbound lane by a 45 degree angle hill, with a ditch at the bottom, and another, but shorter 45 degree angle hill. My car was crying at the concept of trying to cross that without major damage. We sat there until 5:50 AM. Zach needed to board his plane by 7:30, and we still had an hour to drive to the airport.
I drove faster than I think I ever have before, passing more wrecks in one morning than should ever be possible, each time ever more thankful that it wasn't us in one of those wrecks.
I got him there on time, and he was in line to board the plane at 7:08 AM. Two minutes before boarding was possible. Damn, I'm good.
The rest of the day was full of restlessness and the inability to sleep due to being too tired to sleep. Some freelance work was done, TV was watched, macaroni and cheese was consumed. My mother scared me to death in the middle of the night, as I had locked her out while she was next door at my grandmother's, who wasn't feeling well. Finally sleep was had at about 2:30 AM.
Today was full of moving boxes and things from the old apartment, shopping for junk food and fruit to counter-balance the junk food, and watching movies. Mmm...Johnny Depp. I'm about to call Zach and tell him goodnight, and I hope tonight is a little more restful.
Ever since we began dating, I think the longest we've really been apart has been three nights. This should be doable, but I estimate four more days and three more nights of Zach's absence. I'm handling it better than I thought I would up to this point. Let's hope my sanity continues to prevail.
Zach flew out to California yesterday morning to pick up the new car for his job. We woke up at 3:30 AM (see previous post), gathered his things, jumped in the car, and headed to Waynesburg for gas and breakfast.
The food preparer at Sheetz decided that despite the fact that it was empty and we were the only ones who needed food, it was more imperative to plug in the food warmer and fry up some hashbrowns before she started preparing our food. Hashbrowns to non-existent customers is always a priority in my morning routine. To make up for us interrupting the holiest of all morning rituals, she decided my bagel didn't really need to be toasted. Which could have saved us two minutes, had we not already spent the last 20 minutes at the gas station, 10 minutes more than was planned.
We finally got on the interstate at 4:30 AM. About five miles down the road, traffic comes to a complete stop. Apparently there had been a bad wreck. I considered crossing the median, but the northbound lane that we were in was separated from the southbound lane by a 45 degree angle hill, with a ditch at the bottom, and another, but shorter 45 degree angle hill. My car was crying at the concept of trying to cross that without major damage. We sat there until 5:50 AM. Zach needed to board his plane by 7:30, and we still had an hour to drive to the airport.
I drove faster than I think I ever have before, passing more wrecks in one morning than should ever be possible, each time ever more thankful that it wasn't us in one of those wrecks.
I got him there on time, and he was in line to board the plane at 7:08 AM. Two minutes before boarding was possible. Damn, I'm good.
The rest of the day was full of restlessness and the inability to sleep due to being too tired to sleep. Some freelance work was done, TV was watched, macaroni and cheese was consumed. My mother scared me to death in the middle of the night, as I had locked her out while she was next door at my grandmother's, who wasn't feeling well. Finally sleep was had at about 2:30 AM.
Today was full of moving boxes and things from the old apartment, shopping for junk food and fruit to counter-balance the junk food, and watching movies. Mmm...Johnny Depp. I'm about to call Zach and tell him goodnight, and I hope tonight is a little more restful.
Ever since we began dating, I think the longest we've really been apart has been three nights. This should be doable, but I estimate four more days and three more nights of Zach's absence. I'm handling it better than I thought I would up to this point. Let's hope my sanity continues to prevail.
Friday, April 11, 2008
On feeling old...
It seems odd to me that just a couple of years ago, only getting four hours of sleep was a common, weekly occurrence. In fact, some nights we just stayed awake because there was just too many interesting things to do, and sleep just got in the way of our doing these interesting things.
Here I am, awake at 3:45AM after roughly four hours of sleep, and I feel like I could curl up in a ball and just die. It would be safer than me falling asleep while driving to or from the airport - at least I wouldn't potentially take others out with me.
Unless my being alive is the meaning of life. Then you're all fucked.
I feel older today than I have in a long time. Nothing like reminiscing about college days to make you wonder what's happened to your sense of ridiculous sleeping hours and crazy night life.
Here I am, awake at 3:45AM after roughly four hours of sleep, and I feel like I could curl up in a ball and just die. It would be safer than me falling asleep while driving to or from the airport - at least I wouldn't potentially take others out with me.
Unless my being alive is the meaning of life. Then you're all fucked.
I feel older today than I have in a long time. Nothing like reminiscing about college days to make you wonder what's happened to your sense of ridiculous sleeping hours and crazy night life.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
The things in the walls, or the schizophrenic cat...
Sometime between the hours of 4 and 6 AM, our cat Loki awakes from a sound slumber, stands up, blinks wearily, shakes himself awake, and begins his early morning ritual of turning our bedroom into a HELL.
He yowls. He drags his claws across the walls to render a sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. He claws open the closet door. He steps on anything that could potentially make a noise and knocks over every possible thing he can. Sometimes, he tries to knock things off the walls, especially anything that hangs over our heads. If we close the door, he slams his body into it until he cracks the door frame or we let him back into the room. This carries on for hours.
Unfaltering, he will wake us up during the deepest of sleeps, running away when we get up to grab him, returning once we are again comfortable in bed, to begin the process all over again.
I think he's trying to kill us. Be it falling objects, lack of sleep, or overwhelming terror when woken from a deep sleep to the sound of something crashing to the floor, he's determined to ruin us.
Or maybe, just maybe, he's trying to make us crazy enough to hear the imagined things in the walls he's trying to dig out, or the voices that tell him to do things.
I want to believe it's simply a case of a schizophrenic cat, but deep down, I know he's out to get us.
I may never sleep peacefully again.
He yowls. He drags his claws across the walls to render a sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. He claws open the closet door. He steps on anything that could potentially make a noise and knocks over every possible thing he can. Sometimes, he tries to knock things off the walls, especially anything that hangs over our heads. If we close the door, he slams his body into it until he cracks the door frame or we let him back into the room. This carries on for hours.
Unfaltering, he will wake us up during the deepest of sleeps, running away when we get up to grab him, returning once we are again comfortable in bed, to begin the process all over again.
I think he's trying to kill us. Be it falling objects, lack of sleep, or overwhelming terror when woken from a deep sleep to the sound of something crashing to the floor, he's determined to ruin us.
Or maybe, just maybe, he's trying to make us crazy enough to hear the imagined things in the walls he's trying to dig out, or the voices that tell him to do things.
I want to believe it's simply a case of a schizophrenic cat, but deep down, I know he's out to get us.
I may never sleep peacefully again.
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