Tag Archives: struggling

Sorry I’m Late!

Oh my Looooooord it’s good to see you guys! A million thank yous for your patience…I’m just about there by the skin of my teeth for a Monday post…I’d almost forgotten how.

So, for those of you who don’t follow me on Facebook, and might be thinking I somehow fell off the edge of the world in a careless moment, I had an accident and shattered the screen of my laptop, which meant that I couldn’t publish anything. If I could get into WordPress and see the screen of my phone well enough to try and compose a blog post I might have been able to work around it but I couldn’t get the formatting right, the words kept disappearing and in any event, the insurance company said it wouldn’t take very long.

Five days, is what they said. Five days to assess the damage and then five days to repair it.  Five days max. Except it was three days before they even collected it, then a weekend happened. I should’ve known at that point it wasn’t going to run smoothly, you know? I chased twice and after exactly five more days they told me yes, the screen was definitely damaged. No shit, Sherlock…that would account for the big white hectare of nothingness between the left and the right edge then, right?

Just five more days Mrs Tipton, we’ll repair it and you’ll have it back…except five days later some fucking ejit had forgotten to get an authorisation code to go ahead with the repair so it was still sitting on a bench somewhere with a shattered screen. You can probably take your best guess at how pissed off I was, on a scale of one to ten.

To make amends, they offered me a new laptop instead of a repair, which I accepted, with a slightly less sour face. It finally came last Thursday, and I was too giddy for words until I remembered that new ones don’t come pre-loaded with the software that I need and I still couldn’t fucking write.

I had a code somewhere to load the software that I’d bought when I changed my laptop a couple of years ago, but it had disappeared into that safe place black hole along with all the other things I can never put my hands on when I really need them. Long story short, I ended up having to buy it again. It took me hours of angst trying to download and install it because the instructions were not written in ABC language, in fact it might as well have been written in Swahili for all the sense it made to me. But it’s done now, I finally figured it out, and I’m IN.

God it’s so good to be back!! My fingers are tingling and I’m in my happy place.

I’m also in a world of fat. I know. I’d love to say that in my three wordless weeks I’ve been focusing on myself, spending time in the gym and existing on a diet of dust with a side of fresh air, and I’m looking buff.

Yeah, cos that was always going to happen, right?

I’ve been completely under the wheels. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’ve been busy…we all know the devil makes work for idle hands and all. Work has been a little crazy, I’ve started a new business venture which is going better than I might have hoped and I’ve generally tried hard to fill the space I normally reserve for chatting to you guys, but in between all that it’s been like feeding time at the fucking zoo.

I daren’t face the Shitbird…haven’t been near it. I’ve stacked a family sized bag of toilet rolls on top of it actually, so it’s buried out of sight. I can feel my arse following me as I walk around, I mean it’s tragic but even now my head isn’t playing ball. I’m a mess. I haven’t been swimming since the last time we spoke, and the last time we spoke I hadn’t been swimming since…well, it might even be before Christmas.

What the hell happened?

I’m hoping that this is my cue to get my shit together. Now I’m back in that place where I have to be accountable, I mean. It’s like my enforced hiatus from tipping words onto the page signalled a free-for-all in the who gives a shit stakes but I’m back, and I have to make it count…I can’t go on like this with the Asshole steering the ship can I?

I don’t feel ready, that’s the thing. Oh, I’m ready not to be this fat. I just don’t feel ready to stop power eating and I’m really scared that I’m not going to be able to.

Suggestions welcome…  🙂

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The Queen Of Empty Promises

I actually contemplated taking a picture of the Shitbird scale yesterday morning without me standing on it, sort of like a shitbird selfie. In the end, Wednesday’s fall from grace turned into a five day free-for-all, and yesterday was going to be the day it all came good, except it didn’t.

The last thing I wanted to see was a shitty number staring back at me as I struggled with everything else, so I ignored the Shitbird and refused to make eye contact. It was after 11pm before I finally accepted that you lot would likely pelt me with rotten fruit if I tried to wriggle out of being accountable so there we are then, over five pounds in the wrong direction when I finally hopped aboard. Fuck.

I deserve it, to be fair. I’ve been ridiculous. Again. And I don’t know what to tell you. It’s weird you know, more than once since I started writing the blog, some of you have mentioned that other weight-related blogs you’ve followed have disappeared like a fart on a breeze as soon as the person writing it fell off the wagon and when their diet fell by the wayside, so did their writing. I’ve even noticed it myself, you know? There have been two or three people whose journey I’d become invested in, whose posts have become so infrequent as to be virtually non existent. And that’s a real shame, I mean personally speaking – and from a purely selfish perspective – I need you lot more than ever when I’m under the wheels.

It is more than a little bit embarrassing though. I mean, here am I writing a weight loss blog and not losing any fucking weight. More than that, I keep writing about how determined I am and how it’s all going to be great from here on in because this time I’m going to do it except I never fucking get it done. I’m the Queen of empty promises, and that sucks.

For the first time this weekend I kind of understood the reluctance to put words down on the page, but I don’t think it was because I didn’t have anything to say…you know me, I always have words even if I’m just talking shite. The only way I can describe it is it’s like I was rebelling against talking to you lot because you’re all part of my journey, and since me and the diet weren’t even on fucking speaking terms I didn’t want to engage at all. I didn’t log into the blog after I posted on Friday until I was forced to record the shitbird number last night. And that never happens.

I come in here every day, even if it’s not a day where I’m writing. I check out who’s passed through, I respond to my messages, I approve and reply to comments and weed out the trolls and the spam. It’s my safe and happy place and it’s become a big part of my life. But this weekend I just dissed it completely. Messages went unanswered, which is just rude, and if you’ve taken the time to write to me and I haven’t answered you yet I’m really sorry…I will eventually, of course I will. But I’ve been a weird version of myself just because…well, it all feels very fucked up at the moment and I don’t know why.

Answers on a postcard please..? I’m not in control.

However. Today’s a new day, right? Deep breath and start again 🙂


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D Is For Daydream

I wish I had a reset button. It would be so much easier than trying to drag my head back into the right place by degrees. I’m kicking and screaming inside like a wayward toddler at the prospect of having to colour inside the lines again after a week or two off the leash and it doesn’t help that I feel as rough as toast, with a scratchy throat and a banging head. It’s like the Gods of Skinny have conspired to hand me an excuse that I can wheel out in case of emergency, you know? I can’t get back on the wagon yet, I’m poorly and we all know you should feed a cold and starve a fever

Incidentally, I don’t have a cold and I don’t have a fever so technically, whatever bug I’ve picked up is diet neutral and feeling like death warmed up is therefore no excuse at all. Dammit. I need to get a grip and JFDI.

Isn’t it funny, how last week when I was playing fast and loose with whatever I could put in my mouth, my head was full of rash promises about what a paragon of virtue I was going to be as soon as my feet touched home soil. I was going to ace it, yessiree! Full steam ahead, no more messing. Nailed on, I mean guaranteed. With a slice of pizza in one hand and an ice-cream in the other, the prospect of behaving myself at some point in the future seemed incredibly straightforward, dare I even say simple..? It never is though, is it.

Since weigh-in on Sunday, despite this monumental inner tantrum I have stuck to my calorie budget, so that’s a good thing. I’ve eaten my exercise calories, which isn’t ideal but technically it’s allowed. I’m not sure that using all my food budget up by 3pm is the smartest way of budgeting but that’s what happened yesterday…I had to drink coffee for the rest of the day and go without dinner. It doesn’t break the rules per se, but I definitely think it falls under the heading of ‘muppet’. It’s not sustainable.

But I’m trying.

I’m trying to focus on cause and effect. I’m trying to re-embrace the diet and see skinny town in my future instead of resenting the fact that I can’t have what I want. Which, for the avoidance of doubt is ten thousand calories a day, no effort whatsoever on my part and a size twelve arse. It’s just not going to happen. I need to file that thought under D for daydream, and it can take its rightful place alongside my hopes of winning the Euro-millions, or getting carried off and ravished by Hugh Jackman ’till my eyes pop out.


I know somewhere in the core of me there’s a well of determination, tenacity and grit. I’m just having trouble getting at it, that’s all. Sooner or later, providing I keep sending the bucket down I’ll hit the right spot and find a way to crack on without all this drama. Bear with me folks…I’ll get there 🙂


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Falling Down The Hole

I’m having a proper bare-knuckle fight with myself at the moment, as I wake up to day five of pure anarchy. What is it that tips you out of the sweet spot and forces you under the wheels? I can’t even sit here and tell you that I feel out of control, because actually I feel completely, dispassionately in control except I’m doing all the wrong things.

As I was ordering my lunch yesterday from the deli, having deliberately walked out of the house without fixing lunch,  my adopted mantra was running through my head – if I eat any of that I am choosing to wake up weighing more tomorrow than I do today…

The words I’ll have a piece of quiche please with some potato salad, oh and a slab of chocolate cake found their way out of my mouth anyway. And as I looked at my reflection in the shiny glass dome of the food display I was definitely flipping the bird to myself. I mean come on. The chocolate cake wasn’t even that good, but I ate it anyway, along with a kit-kat and two fingers of shortbread.

Where the actual fuck has this come from? Last week I fought the good fight every day, and although every mealtime felt like a battleground and my calorie allocation was a feat of engineering, I pretty much managed to make it add up. Well, more or less. But I definitely came out of last week feeling like I was still in the fight, even though I was on the ropes.

Right now, I’m not even counting. And I know I should be. Even as I’m dancing with the devil I should be logging, tracking and facing the reality of what’s going into my mouth but the Asshole is behind the wheel, and in the euphoria of this food fug I’m confused about how it’s making me feel. I should feel guilty, right? Bad. What I actually feel is sweet blessed relief that I’ve relinquished control and fuck the consequences.

I laid there last night trying to find some words for today’s post, and no words came. So I shut my laptop and went to sleep…I never do that. This is my safe place, you know? It’s where I can tip out the contents of my head and work through what’s going on no matter how tired I feel or how reluctant the words are to arrange themselves on the page. But I didn’t even put up a fight last night when my own head shut me out. I just gave into it and checked out, in fact I was asleep by 8.30pm.

I feel quite calm, actually. And I don’t know how today’s going to be, but I do know that I need to do everything in my power to dig myself out of this hole I seem to have fallen into. I’ve done it before, and I know I can do it again. I just need to summon up enough will to pick up the shovel  🙂


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One Hundred And Fifty One Minutes

That’s how long it took, to go from hero to zero. I’m always honest with you guys, right? Best buckle in then, let’s get it over with.

I woke up in a dark place on Wednesday, I mean I’d really seen my arse. From the moment I opened my eyes I was seething with resentment that I had to be on this stupid fucking diet in the first place, and I knew I was going to have a bad day. If I look back on the sequence of events I can sort of see it unravelling.

I had a rubbish night’s sleep on Tuesday night, which I think is  where it all started to go tits up. I’d had to pull out of my fat furnace class at the Kingdom of Pain due to my knee, which since our cycling adventures on Sunday has been giving me hell. I’d settled down later in the evening to draft a blog post, but no words had come.

It happens every now and then, you know? I wrote and rewrote the same few moany paragraphs until I was boring myself sick, and I ended up turning in after midnight with a pile of shite on the page and a plan to look at it with fresh eyes in the morning. Which I did, and it was still shite. It took a while for me to get it to a point where I was ready to send it out to your ears and that meant I was late getting into the office.

My to do list was overwhelming, and from late morning I was tied up in a meeting that was due to go on for the rest of the day. For all the reasons I’ve talked about I’d not had time to prepare any food to take to work, so when the catered lunch arrived at 11.59am, my defences were shot.

And I fell.

Mini yorkshire puddings with rare beef and horseradish…oh yes I’ll have one of those. Then another two. Three BLT sandwich triangles and a handful of crisps. Back for another mini yorkshire, and a king prawn and cream cheese blini. MMMmmm that was nice, best have a couple more of them. There’s cake? Awesome. The rocky road looks good…three of those then and a square of ginger cake whilst I’m there. They’re only little after all.

We’re done? I’ll just carry the six remaining squares of cake across the hall for the girls in the office…girls, (chewing) there are five pieces of cake here if anyone wants them...

Just in case anyone on the planet was still under any illusion that I was watching what I ate, I also managed to sink six treacle toffees before we wound the meeting up. One hundred and fifty one minutes to eat my own bodyweight in crap, and I did it beautifully. It was carnage.

So from there, contrite and lesson learned, I headed home to sit on the naughty step and think about what I’d done, right?

Did I fuck. I drove three miles out of my way because I wanted pizza, and whilst I was picking that up I bought a box of Magnum ice cream lollies for my boy. Except I ate three out of the box of four before he got home, and I didn’t tell him about the fourth. FYI I ate that yesterday. Which wasn’t as bad as Wednesday but I won’t be winning any prizes for clean eating, that’s for sure.

How is it, that the ground beneath my feet can be so fucking solid one day – actually for more than one hundred days – and then I’m jettisoned headlong into dieting quicksand for no apparent reason? I think messing around with my food plan has had a catastrophic effect on my psyche. Lesson learned, eh.

This morning, I just feel a bit dazed. And I’ve got two choices haven’t I? I can choose a skinny life, where I pick myself up and reset. Or I can choose to carry on behaving like a fucking ejit.

I choose skinny. I’m starting again with my clean eating as of today, right now in this moment. I’m not waiting until Sunday. From today, and one day at a time.

Walk with me? I need you guys 🙂

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