Better Shellfish Than Dead

bathroom scale
This monring’s reading

I was feeling kind of nauseous from not eating.  At tad unsteady on my feet, even; my brain aching from a massive headache; and then I threw up.

I’d been on that 260 pound plateau for a few days.  The needle of the scale was not moving.  I was begining to lose hope.  I was not eating anything, just drinking a lot of seltzer water, lifting weights, and I wasn’t losing an ounce of fat from my body.

As a kind of counterintuitive move, I ate something nice my wife made — a shepheard’s pie she cooked for St Paddy’s — and I had a big helping or two, with some soda bread.  I thought I would gain 5 lbs, but instead, I resumed losing weight.

There are a lot of other stressful things going on in my life, such as the interminable time it is taking to get rid of our house in NY.

Still waiting for the buyers to get their mortgage approved, and then there is this matter of the town misplacing the Certificate of Occupancy records for the outside generator that’s in the yard.

All this is causing me major agita.

Thank Anubis that our German Sheppie finally had her stitches taken out after being spayed, and no longer has to wear a cone around her head to keep her for gnawing at the incision that needed 2 weeks to heal properly.

I took her to the beach early.

It was cold and empty: perfect GSD weather.  I watched her as she chased the tennis ball in the sand and dropped it into the waves along the shoreline, the morning sun catching the russet colors in her coat.

It did not go as well later with my wife at lunch.  The dog has a lot of redness around the incision.  We took a picture of it and sent it to the vet.

She wanted to discuss Donald Trump, and I didn’t.  She kept insisting, and I again said I don’t really want to get into that.  She persisted, and I perhaps too sharply said I just don’t want talk about that asshole, ever. It upset my wife that I cut her off like that, and she left to go back to the old house, taking the dog with her, amd I stayed alone in the new house we just bought.

I do not want to talk about Donald Trump, or the banking crisis, or the Ukraine, or abortion legislation, or guns, or fucking DeSantis, or bloody Brexit, or anything at all that is completley out of my control and thus pointless to discuss.

I just don’t need the added stress.

In fact, I am reaching a point in my life when I only want to think about or do certain things that either are positive in nature or serve some useful purpose.

Talking about American politics is not one of them, nor is passively watching endless cable TV political shows that do nothing but raise one’s blood pressure and make one want to either commit suicide or go postal.

Fuck that crap.

My immediate focus is to lose 60 lbs by my birthday late August.

That is it.

Without that, there is nothing.

50 days ago, when I went to see my doctor and had those awful test resuts, I weighed ~15 lbs more than I do today.

That’s pretty darn good as a start.

I am scheduled to see him again on April 4th; the plan — Anubis willing — is to be under 250 by then.

That is a loss of over 20 lbs in about 2 months: a lofty goal.  I am retaking a Lipid Panel test to prove to the doctor, when I see him next, that I do not need a statin prescription.

I need to lose all this weight because, at my age (71), continuing like this means certain death or becoming a vegetable after a stroke or having my toes or feet chopped off as a result of diabetes.

Who needs that?

I want to enjoy the time I have left as much as I can without being dependent on others in any way.

Doesn’t almost everyone?

I want to prove to myself that despite 20 years of being trapped in the state of Florida with no money, that I still have it in me to claw my way back to being the person I think I still am, under all those layers of fat, doing the sorts of things I enjoy doing, and living the sort of life that makes me happy.

There is much to do in the months ahead.

Every pound I lose feels like shedding one more failure, or more disappointment, one more memory of something that was supposed to work out but in the end didn’t.

I guess I want to find that guy who lost his way some 20 years ago, and together maybe we can get back to being friends again.

Maybe that is going to take being a bit selfish for a while, while still taking care of day to day business for my family of course.

So be it.

Better shellfish than dead, as we say around these parts.

 

smiley with glasses

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