Good morning, dear readers. Today, I'm trying to get healthy on the slow and steady path. I'm overweight and I know it. 99 kilos is more than a few too many.
The Bullshit Medical Indicator reckons I should be at 63-69 kilograms. And we all know how I feel about BMI. It's a predatory tactic used by the weight loss industry to spread eating disorders and call it "healthy".
The last time I was anywhere near weighing sixty kilos was when I was fourteen. And I was an underweight teenager. Hell, for a majority of my high school years, I weighed eighty kilos and regularly hauled around a ten kilo backpack.
The BMI would call my skinny, undersized, teenage self "overweight" and "unhealthy" and recommend diet and exercise. Never trust the fucking BMI.
I got up half an hour before my morning alarm [and possibly half an hour after I woke up] for a gentle walk around the block in the early dawn light. It being the crest of summer, it was already toasty before the sun had quite finished clearing the trees.
Of course I experienced the great Australian paranoia of nearly shitting myself every time a distant dinosaur relative took wing. Springtime is the season for territorial flying saurian arseholes to take offence at any random human and attempt to dive bomb their heads off.
You've never experienced true fear until you've heard plovers approaching your position at Mach 3.
I survived unscathed, hallelujah. None the worse for my adventures. I should go the instant I wake up in future. Mostly because the longer I wait, the hotter it's going to be.
And if it weren't for an internet SNAFU, I would have been using this time productively to get as much writing done as I could before I encountered true roasting temperatures.
And it turns out that the $700 split-system air con is going to be a bust. We could buy it, that's true. But we'd still have to have a $2K installation fee which effectively renders any savings moot. Comfort is not cheap, friends.
While money may not buy happiness, it can certainly solve a lot of the unhappiness that happens when one is firkin broke.
I got dinner started. Nothing fancier that putting the shoulder roast in the slow cooker with a bit of water. I'll pop up to the shops, later on, for a bit of Bisto and add that into the mix. The veg and rice can wait until the end of the day.
I love slow cookers. They save my butt on the summer days when I have an immense case of the DunWannas.
Thing yet to do: Replace the battery in the scales so I can weigh myself and track what passes for my progress. The experts say I should weigh in at the same time of day. Fuck that. I never have that regular a schedule. The best I can do is the same slot in my daily routine.