who are you kidding?

So you weigh yourself and find that you've lost 0.2 kg since yesterday and prance along the streets to work as if you'd lost 7 lbs or 3 lbs or even 1 lb because it's so easy to take satisfaction from the smallest thing and at least the weight change is heading in the right direction, and you think of all the swimming, cycling, working out in the gym, and nights when you go to bed so hungry you wonder if you'll manage to sleep, and convince yourself that you are converting fat to muscle and muscle is heavier, so the real loss, the real improvement in your body, is greater than the scales reflect, and you imagine yourself in girlie dresses and flouncy skirts and tight leather jackets because that's what you want to be able to look good in, soon, at least by summer, and you pass the sweet shop and stop to buy a bar of chocolate because you know it helps the creative process and you want your writing to go well today, and you notice that these heavenly fondant-filled Cadbury's eggs are selling at 2 for 80 p when they normally cost 55 p each and you wish that with such a bargain the calorie content of each was proportionately reduced but you know this isn't the case, so you settle for a boring-looking bar of milk chocolate, telling yourself that you really need a cocoa fix mid afternoon and that you'll be on your exercise bike this evening, pummelling away all those calories, and after all, chocolate does have an anti-oxidant effect, even if the dark stuff is more beneficial, and this is the sort of inner dialogue you have with yourself all the time and you know that you shouldn't write such long sentences unless you are Virginia Woolf and can devise vigorous, energetic and above all CLEAR sentences, each clause building on the next, like waves ready to break.







Deceivingly yours

Jane