I have a hojillion things going through my head, and at least two bigger posts I haven’t had a chance to write yet (the ghost tour in North Conway and a snippet about the Ren Faire). But, for now, little things.
After being absolutely awful for two weeks - anniversary weekend and then a general just-being-bad this past weekend, I so didn’t want to get on the scale yesterday. I’m doing Weight Watchers. It worked for our wedding, five years ago, but, well. We went on honeymoon in New Orleans and counting calories there is ten kinds of sin. Then we moved out of our condo and into our house. To call it a fixer-upper is a massive understatement. The previous owner smoked.
And smoked.
And smoked.
There was a thin layer of nicotine everywhere, and even though my mom and my mother-in-law spent our first weekend there elbows deep in Simple Green and other cleaners, it was still there. Especially in the kitchen cabinets. So, for two months, until we could afford to rip them out and put new ones up, I didn’t cook anything very much more complicated than macaroni and cheese and soup, because I refused to put my dishes on those toxic shelves.
Then, of course, it was Christmas-time, then the new year, then my birthday, and… yeah. Somewhere in there, I stopped with the weight watching.
So! I started again a couple of months ago. At first, I thought I’d skip my weigh-in yesterday so I wouldn’t be discouraged. I had to have put some weight back on. Then I thought, “Suck it up, you pansy.” Because, really, you kind of have to be honest with yourself if you want a diet to work. Pretending it’s not there doesn’t make it go away. I got on the scale.
No idea how, but I’d lost a pound despite my crappy eating. Go me!
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This is the time of year when I’m supposed to be reading next season’s stuff, so I can actually sound like I know what I’m talking about when I sell the books to buyers in January. But I’m having this mad urge to go back and read a bunch of my favorites. Somewhere in between the new stuff, I want to squeeze in:
- The Stand - it’s been several years. I used to read it every summer.
- The Sandman collection
- A Game of Thrones and the rest of the Song of Ice and Fire series.
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I got my watch battery replaced yesterday. I’ve gone watchless for way too long, and it’s kind of nice to be able to just look at my wrist and see the time, rather than fishing through my purse to find my cell phone and hope it’s charged.
Greg gave the watch to me for our wedding. I stopped wearing it for a while because I think in the mad de-nicotining, I got some kind of cleaner on the band and my skin got all irritated. I switched out the band, even though I shouldn’t have. (The watch is a Movado. I totally broke the warranty…)
In a fit of organizing Monday night, I found the old band and put it back on the stopped watch. I now understand why jewelers wear loupes. Holy eye strain, batman. I though a couple of years of not being worn might have, I don’t know, made whatever’s on the original band dissipate.
During my lunch, I went to this little mom and pop watch repair place in the jewelers’ building and had them put in a new battery (if the warranty wasn’t broken before, it is now. Yes, I know. I suck. But I didn’t want to wait two weeks while they sent it away for a ten-minute battery replacement…)
I didn’t ask for a new band.
Today, Day Two of Having My Watch Back, my wrist is bright fucking red and itchy. I had to take it off (my watch, not my wrist). I’m debating whether I should go for another leather band (which I’d prefer) or save up for a metal band, on the off-chance I didn’t get anything on it and instead I’m allergic to some treatment they put on the leather. Because I can’t imagine I’d have worn this while we were scrubbing the walls. I’m usually smart enough to take off my jewelry when dunking my hands in chemicals.
Ugh.
So, how’s your day going?
