First it's Crazy Aunt Purl and the diet talk, and then Amie posts about a blogfriend who is collecting cancer caps, right when I am 1) feeling fatter than humanly possible, okay, actually fatter than possible if I want to wear the clothes in my closet; and 2) had just cast on a really pretty and really soft hat from some really lovely handpainted girly stuff. I pictured this hat on the head of a 12 year old - it's just J Crewish enough, not too cutesy, and would be a lovely cancer cap for some kid at Hopkins.
I may have to break down and buy YOU on a Diet. Because I am intrigued, and I don't own enough diet books. cough, cough
This perimenopausal/menopausal/gettingfat-al whatever they call it stage is really taking hold, and is totally new to me. I can do the same things I always have done, and I gain weight. I can employ the time-honored weight loss techniques I have used successfully in the past, and now the result is Not a Fucking Ounce. Maybe I'll gain a pound, because my body is a comedian right now. And apparently I am being possessed by John Candy.
And I can honestly say that I do eat a healthy diet and exercise the recommended amount. It is like my body has hit a wall, hormonally and weight loss-wise, and I have to figure out how to live with this new metabolism. Because the things I have been doing are no longer working. It's like my ass is Iraq, and I am Dubya, and I'm just not understandin' this metabolic civil war thing. It's strange and ugly, and everything I knew before doesn't work but I keep trying them, because dammit, it's s'posed to work!
As for work - yes, I was offered the promotion at my last review, a quarter ago (we review a hell of a lot). And I accepted, and it took a full quarter for the corporate wheels to grind and groan and retool the department. We lost one, another is resigning for personal reasons, two official promotions, one unofficial promotion because someone is finally doing what he was hired to do and wants to do. It's going to be lively.
Oh, and I want the Knit from Your Stash Gold Star this week, people. I went to a meeting yesterday, TWO BLOCKS from the most decadent yarn shop in the state and a place where I can drop $200 and walk out with a really small bag of really good stuff, and yes, the drug analogy is not coincidental. And my meeting broke up early, and the shop was open, and I was within walking distance, and Saint Catherine walked to her car and drove away, without a backward glance. Because I have at least 3 projects from yarn bought at that shop waiting at home. But this was like an alcoholic walking away from a bar, or a gambler walking past a casino. If only these iron discipline credits were applied to my ass.