Poor Frank, and Other Stories.

Yesterday, I thought that Frank might be sick. After all, he seemed way off the WW scale on Saturday, and he's been weighing me consistently at 285.6 for days now. So, just to see what would happen, I decided to try last night. Nope -- Frank was up the amount one would expect him to be in the evening. And it's not like he just goes straight for that number by predestination. The numbers swing all over the place, getting my hopes up, before landing in the same place.

I know this probably seems a tad obsessive, since it's only been four days in a row, but knowing that I've been doing everything I'm supposed to be doing, you'd think there'd be a tiny bit of variance, wouldn't you? Point-two? Or something? I'm puzzled.

I'll give it a few more days, I guess, before getting seriously concerned. It's not like I haven't encountered the Screeching Halt before. It just seems a little early.

Last night Hubby and I were watching a movie in bed and the Eating Machine grabbed ahold of me so tightly I couldn't concentrate. Finally I told Hubby I had to go to sleep =-- it was the only way to make it stop. When you're not on-program, you forget what hunger feels like. I was hungry -- mind-numblingly hungry -- but it was 10:30 pm and there was no way I was going to feed it. Not when I'd gone through 15 flexpoints in two days.

This morning when I got up, I discovered I had the most bizarre ache, like a band all the way around my middle, tucked under the bottom of my rib cage. It's worst in the back. Just plain weird.

Well, I guess that's the end of another somewhat self-indulgent post. Ciao, babes. :)