Went to bed weighing 179, woke up weighing 181.4, now 182.4!
Tuesday was a lot of last-minute "got to do this before I go back to work" chores. I was running around all day.
I went to my regular hair salon and had my hair color fixed. It's normal now. It cost a fortune but it was worth it. I had to see the most senior color specialist to figure out how to get the ash (greenish-gray) out of my blond highlights. It was painless, love the colorist, been to her before. Painless but pricey. Lesson learned: trying to save money on my hair always winds up costing me a lot of time and more money. I also had two inches cut off by my regular stylist (same salon). Much happier with it now.
Then I went shopping for work clothes. D-i-a-s-t-e-r!!! I hate shopping. I've never understood how anyone can think shopping for clothes is fun. Even in the best of times when I'm what I consider a "skinny" weight, I hate it. Since this isn't the best of times for my weight, it was totally not fun. I've never in my entire life stood in a dressing room and liked what I saw staring back at me.Yesterday was worse than usual.
After looking at probably hundreds of dress jeans and slacks, and hating all of them, I finally tried on three pair of jeans. I hated them (notice how "hate" is a running theme about me and clothes?). Size 12's and 14's. Too small or too big. Too tight in the hips, too loose in the waist. Too long, even with three-inch heels. Just too wrong in every way.
I came home with three new pairs of dress shoes. Doesn't that sound like a fat girl? You can always find cute shoes. At least I bought something.
About my weight. Another disaster in that area. I had to run to the store last night at 7pm to buy trouser socks. Since I wore flips for most of the summer (dressy flips, but still, flips?), I decided to start dressing a little better for work. Flips were never really appropriate, but I was on a "I don't care how I look" phase for most of last summer. Flips certainly aren't appropriate in my office in September with the rainy season starting.
As I was leaving for the store my husband asked me to pick him up "a piece of cake". WHAT? YOU WANT ME TO PICK YOU UP A PIECE OF CAKE?!!!". Yes, that was me yelling. Why not just go ask a crack addict to pick you up some crack. What the hell?! He said he just wanted something sweet, just a small piece of cake. And some potato chips too please (!!!).
He has never asked me to do this in our 23 years of marriage. Probably because I've either been on a diet or should have been on a diet or was thinking about going on a diet for those 23 years. Reluctantly I agreed (yes, I need my head examined). Occasionally I try to be a sweet wife, but this was the wrong time and the wrong thing.
The store I was going to was Fred Myer, one of those stores that has a lot of everything, including trouser socks, cake and potato chips. They didn't have any pieces of cake, but they had pieces of cheesecake. He likes cheesecake (and unfortunately so do I). I felt like I had the will of steel. I could buy this junk, and I wouldn't eat it. I hadn't eaten anything unhealthy for weeks. One piece of caramel, pecan cheesecake (my personal favorite...you can see I was subconsciously trying to sabotage myself), and one bag of Kettle chips, vinegar and salt, also my favorite.
When I got home with my purchases, around 9pm, my husband was asleep. I hadn't eaten since 9am, before my hair appointment. I was exhausted and starving.
For some really weird reason, I wanted to weigh myself. I hadn't weighed myself for three days. I never weigh at night, because of course we all weigh more at night than first thing in the morning. Still, I got on the scales. Surprise, I was 179. I weighed three times. Could that be right, 179? Yes, it was right, three times and each time 179.0. I broke the 180 barrier.
Then I ate a nice, healthy dinner of chicken breast and Brussels sprouts. Then I ate the piece of cheesecake and the bag of potato chips. This morning, 181.4. I gained 2.4 pounds overnight. It's probably partly the salt, but still...why?
I could blame this on my husband. I would actually like to blame my husband, but this is nothing to do with him. It's something to do with me. I went about twelve hours without eating. That was stupid. I brought crap food into our house that normally would never be here. That was me, not him. He would never do that, yet he asked to do it and I said okay. Why did he ask? That alone is really odd. And why on earth did I agree. Normally I would say no way. You can buy it and eat it, but I don't want to have it in my sight. I wish I wasn't like this, but it's a fact of life and one he's accepted.
I don't have the answers and honestly, and I'm still perplexed by my behavior. Maybe I was tired, hungry and not thinking straight. Maybe I had temporary insanity. I don't really understand what happened, why would a sane, reasonably intelligent person make such a bad decision?
I'm back at it today. I guess I'll just put that in my memory bank as a lesson learned.
It's almost 10pm. Time for sleep, or at least, my attempt at sleep. I saw a sleep doctor today about my inability to sleep through the night. Which will be in a later post. I have to at least try to sleep now.