I'm a loser

Yes, I am, and at long last. According to the scale at Curves, and the one at the ancestral palace, I lost almost six pounds last week.

I know that sounds crazy.

But since it's the first time since I started that the scales have actually shown me down at all, somehow, some part of it must be right.

Could be all the water I started drinking last week, or the week before, or whenever that was. The days blur together: up early, work out, make breakfast, spend a frillion hours in traffic, work, spend a frillion hours in traffic, miss Professor Taco, lather, rinse repeat. The days go by in a haze of not-in-Halifax-yet longing, tamped down with daily workouts and lots and lots of fresh cut fruit.

Anyhow, the inches have continued to come off, so it was only a matter of time before the scale coughed up some change.

I'm not getting too wound about it -- well, about the mystery of how the hell it's possible to lose six pounds in a week after losing nothing for a month I'm wound, for sure, but not about the actual number -- because I feel fantastic. And my clothes are getting looser.

I feel strong, and capable, and I love that.

I also am pretty keen on the rampant fantasising I'm doing about buying new clothes. The ones I have should be falling off me just in time for the post-Christmas sales. Good timing, me!