I like big ‘buts’ and I cannot lie.

(Yes, I’m back. For now.)

So after a rather successful first week back into it… I lost 1.6kg.


Didn’t really do much except not eat ALL THE THINGS.

Not even any exercise. That’s a nice ease back into the new routine.

I was like, “Sh-t?! REALLY?! Not eating ALL THE THINGS works?”

“Yes,” said Scales, “Not eating ALL THE THINGS works.”


You knew there was a ‘but’ coming. Go on. Look at that ‘but’.


My out-laws arrived for a five-day stay.

And they believe in things like happy hour and entrees and nibbles and big dinners…


So I ate.


And Scales snickered and asked in that low, smirky kind of way, “You ate ALL THE THINGS again, didn’t you?”

And I answered “Fuck off, Scales.”

But Scales was not done yet.

“Look at that,” Scales flashed with barely suppressed, unmitigated evil glee. “LOOK. You gained 3kg. IN FIVE DAYS.”

And, a little more quietly, guiltily, I said, “Fuck off, Scales.”

Actually, it was the Tuesday night (when we went out to a Greek restaurant in Williamstown and I would eat a MOUTAIN of well-cooked flesh) that I had hit a new low-high. My size 16s don’t fit anymore. My size 18s (the things I recently bought to be my interim “fat pants”) are wearable but way too tight.

I reached up into the top of the wardrobe and pulled down a pair of size 20s.


I never wanted to see that fucking number again, but there it was.

I put them on and they were snug but comfy and I cried with a mixture of regret, heartache and relief.

Regret that I had not had more self control this past 12 months when everything seemed to go pear-shaped health-wise, heartache because I never wanted to be at this place again and yet, here I was, and finally relief; because without pants I would have been going to dinner naked and ain’t nobody should have to deal with that.

So this weekend I took stock, ate a little more (and enjoyed it), weighed myself again, put in all the numbers and climbed back on that fat-arse horse.

Seriously, bugger the wagon. I can scare the horse into submission by threatening to eat it.

I mean beat it.

Nah, ‘eat’ sounds better.

I am tracking everything again too – my phone reminds me to make sure I track. I was actually really guilty that I didn’t track this weekend and I kept getting beeped by my phone saying, “Helloooooo.. have you tracked today? I know you haven’t tracked today otherwise you wouldn’t be getting this notification! Helloooooo! YOU NEVER CALL! I only spent SEVENTEEN days in labour trying to give birth to you! NOBODY LOVES ME!!*”

Yeup. That WW app does guilt like the Jewish mother I never had.

*True story. I was 17 days late. Shut up. I was comfy.

Broken Brains & Lumosity.

So, I have this Thing. It’s a Thing that causes me lots of trouble. It’s a Brain Thing.

And this will probably be the first time in my blogging history that I have admitted this “out loud” at all in any serious way.

Sometimes this Thing apparently makes my brain not want to work properly.

It started with a slight stutter that began in high school. Don’t ask me why it started then. It was early on, probably in Year 7 (that’s junior year of high school, I guess, for those of you who may not understand the Australian grading system). I was sad, lonely, friendless, depressed, being bullied by a particular girl who made my life a living misery for twelve solid months. I wagged almost a full term of my first year. How I passed I really don’t know. I think I was also overcompensating for a mouth full of metal – metal which I had for SEVEN. FUCKING. YEARS. For all the good it did me. I didn’t want to talk, I still couldn’t get my lips to move around the braces properly but then I would get so stressed about it that even when I could speak, the wrong words came out.

It was something which became more noticeable to me as I got older and as a result I simply got quieter.

It’s something that continued to the present day.

It was a few years ago now that I was hit with a scenario that will probably stay with me forever – because it made me realise that this wasn’t just a little inconvenience. This was an actual, serious Thing. I was stuck at home because my car – my lovely old 1978 Datsun 120Y Coupe (mustard yellow, if you please, with all leather interior) wouldn’t start. The battery was fine (because I’d only bought a new one the month before) so it wasn’t just an issue of jump-starting it and heading off. In my despair, I called the RACV for help.

I mean, seriously. This how ridiculous it gets – and I can laugh now but when it happened it was painfully embarrassing.

I was reciting my registration number and I said “G for Dad”.

G for Dad.

There was a brief yet intensely uncomfortable pause and then a snortgiggle at the other end of the line. I joined in, even though I was cringing and then said I was having a right shit of a morning and I was late for work and I really needed someone to come out and get my car started for me SO STOP LAUGHING AND PLEASE HELP.

So there’s that.

And now there’s the memory thing. I have been having trouble remembering things. Short term, long term, it doesn’t matter. There have been days where I have arrived at work and I don’t remember certain parts of my journey. For a twenty-minute ride, that’s impressive. A little bit scary. I have trouble remembering things at work that I should be remembering after 18 months being there. The list continues.

And numbers. Seriously, I hate it when someone calls with a problem with their account. It takes me forever to work it out – if I can even work it out. I don’t see numbers right. I cannot work things out in my head. I would be in serious trouble without a calculator.

I’m not smart. I would really like to consider myself intelligent but I know that I am not. I have a basic knowledge of many things so I can carry on a conversation well enough. But I am not smart. I have many friends who may disagree with me on this and while it would be sweet of them to say so, I know that what they perceive as intelligence may just very well be the fact that I am more perceptive than intelligent – when you spend a lot of time not talking because you can’t physically and mentally form the right words, you tend to observe and take in a fuckload of information. But at age 35 (almost 36) I would expect my brain to be working at it’s peak, not heading in the opposite direction. Intelligence I can improve on with practice but ye olde grey matter needs to be in working order for that to happen.

So with that in mind, I joined up with Lumosity. I’ve been doing some brain training which, if nothing else, makes me a little more alert afterwards. It’s basically playing a set number of games each day to improve brain function. Activities include things like memory, speed, reaction time, complex recognition, spatial memory and all that fun stuff. There’s a whole lot of science-y stuff around it but I figure that anything which will help my poor little neurons to pick up their game a bit is a good thing. I’ve also got mum and the manbeast into it as well seeing as how a family subscription was only $30 more than a single.

I guess I’ll report back in a few weeks and let you know if there’s been any marked improvement.