It's been a month since Ned and I broke up, part two of our endless breakup. The point is that, as I have alluded to before, my weight may have been mentioned, and I was shocked and humiliated.
I went home (via cab) (cabdriver assured me that "any man could see you are not fat, madame") and when I woke up the next day, the very first thing I did, before I even fumed, was get the Lifesum app. I'd never even heard of that app, I just Googled "diet apps" and it came up.
I'm telling you, it's a good app. I wish I were getting paid to say this, but I am not. I can hook it up to my FitBit, or in my case, my FatBit, and it tells Lifesum how many calories I burned that day. And every time I tell Lifesum what I ate, it gives me either a smiling or a disapproving face.
It's pretty pleased with my 79 cups of black coffee. Okay, anorexia encourager. Anyway, it also tells me how I'm doing on fat, carbs and protein each day, and the app is my color of blue that I like so well. Shade I guess I mean shade. I'm too skinny to make sense.
Because although for the first week or two it felt like the DAMN SCALE wasn't moving (I went with traditional reduction in calories. The app gives you a bunch of diets you can do), today I got on the scale, and in one month?
I've lost 11 pounds.
I AM A STICK.
Okay, so I'm still at a depressing weight. But I'm ON MY WAY, dammit.
Mostly, I've stopped doing stupid things. No alcohol during the week. When I took The Poet out, I ordered wine and didn't finish it. No fast food. You know, the stuff that as a grownup I shoulda been doing anyway.
So that's exciting.
I gotta go--I slept in--but let me ask you this. If you could go back in time (IF I COULD TURN BACK TIII-OMM) (I gotta get over my Cher impression) and tell yourself anything, what would it be?