Fitbit Frustrations (Reprise)

So, here’s what today looked like for me. It wasn’t all that bad a day, all said and done. It’s the kind of day that has me thinking about next steps in my get-skinny plan to rule the universe. (I assume there’s very little wiggle room in an imperial storm trooper uniform, anyway.)

I may have mentioned I’m falling away from the Fitbit bandwagon. Today was one of those days, and the nameless Fitbit and I had a moment where the screen was randomly flashing… a long moment. A moment where just as I got my phone out to film it, the thing suddenly decided to behave. And another moment where the display went out all together. (a forced restart helped.)

Suffice it to say my next wearable will probably not be a Fitbit brand, but I am actually doing fairly well with the overall tracking all progress thing. (Yes, that screenshot represents an improvement for me.) So, I’m debating what the next thing should be.

I have located (but not purchased) a bathroom scale that speaks emoji. That is to say, it has a mode where it gives you a smiley face, if you’re getting closer to your goals and a frowny if you’re getting further away, and skips the numbers entirely. It’s not a Fitbit product, and it might not integrate. But I’m down to not caring a whole lot. On the other hand, it’s the kind of thing I could live for a long time without. And it’s the kind of money that I do think twice about. (mine.)

Overall, it also has me thinking about the interlinked nature of goals.  You’d think a day like today–and I was out running around for most of it–would take a good chunk out of my writing time, but as usual, there’s the unexpected. I’m actually being more productive lately.

So, now I’m off to finish making one of my characters poison a part of her brain.

YES, she has her reasons.

Unpopular Opinion Coming Through

Over my lunch hour, today, I got caught at the chatty table. I’m not exactly sure how that happened. Poetic justice, really. I sat down at the empty table, and wouldn’t you know it? Ten minutes later, it was the social event of the season. Women talking about their sons and grandsons, and the wonderful world of high-school wrestling. I know next to nothing about wrestling, and I have no sons or grandsons, so you can imagine my role in the conversation. Mostly smiling and nodding, while I wonder if it’s okay to get out my earphones, yet.

So, the coach has announced that he will be very carefully monitoring the boys’ weights to be sure that no one is doing unhealthy things to get the weight class of their choice.

Yup. It was a conversation about eating disorders, but no one actually said “eating disorder.” Not even the woman who was describing her kid, who was compulsively chewing gum in order to soak up moisture from his body. (I’m not sure I totally got the process, but that’s the theory.)

You have to imagine a weird mix of pride and concern. Here and there, a mother setting her foot down, that her son is NOT going to endanger his future health so he can wrestle for a couple of years. Less clear about how, exactly, she intends to stop it.

Damn it, no! You cannot have a puppy eating disorder.

It’s weird how deep and dark and deadly serious high school sports are. And if you think they’re just a game… well, you’re either an optimist or completely out of touch.

The first time I remember anyone talking about this was several years after my older cousin stopped (football, wrestling, etc.) He’d played in high school. And college. And for what it’s worth, I thought he was pretty good. (what I could see from over the edge of my book, anyway.) I thought of him as athletic. Fit. Healthy.

And then, all of a sudden, people were talking about how much better he looked, now that he wasn’t trying to maintain his weight class… How much weight he’d lost. And they were right, of course. I’d just never thought of him as anything other than a “big” guy.  I was surprised by the comment, and more surprised to realize… well, wow… sports probably weren’t all that good for him.

Kids push themselves hard. Not just boys.

And they don’t always have a clear idea of whether they have an actual chance of being a pro football player or a prima ballerina.

The cost-benefit assessment is more an adult’s job.

The idea of a coach lecturing an entire team on “eat right or else?” I hope he was talking to one specific kid, but I don’t believe it. And honestly, I think a more recreational approach to high school sports might be wise.

Gee, I wish I had a machine that could state the obvious.

My Fitbit registered a whopping hour and fifty-one minutes of sleep last night. I have it on a sensitive setting,(because it can’t tell sleeping from reading, if I don’t.) but that’s “significantly less” than my usual amount of sleep. I am reminded to get back to my usual schedule. There are moments where you’d like to slap your activity and fitness tracker, aren’t there?

 

Because, Yes… Quite Frankly… Too Lazy to Eat

I’m always on the lookout for the most convenient, least time consuming breakfast on the planet. Well… at least, I have lofty dreams of finding something I 1.) Want to eat and 2.) Have plenty of time to work on real projects during/after eating. I’m pretty sure the ideal would probably be a gastric tube of some kind. I could type, and nutri-ate at the same time.

I’ve converted my lunch hour into useable time by shoving a bar or two into my purse instead of getting actual food, and now, I’m moving on.

I ordered a case of Soylent off the internet.

Coffiest flavor, for those who are curious.

This is a meal-replacement of a non-weightloss variety. It’s 400 calories a bottle, with nifty vitamins, and well… in this particular version… coffee.

Of a cold and bitter variety.

It’s basically… well… edible.

And caffeinated.

The world around me appreciates me drinking caffeine in all its glorious forms. It’s amazing how much less bitchy my coffee makes them.

We’ll see how my bottled breakfast makes me feel in a couple of weeks. I expect the low sugar (did I mention bitter) and the absence of other sweeteners (bitter!) might make it a good choice.

No, Really. It’s Butter.

I actually can cook, when I feel like it, and when I’m paying attention, and this week, I’ve had the time to do it. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and usually… well, a protein bar and a vitamin pill counts, right?

No. Apparently not. I’ve spent the last week scrambling eggs in buerre noisette, and feeling all the better for it. I’m not sure if it’s the ritual of cooking, itself, or the food, or some combination of the two, but I haven’t burned the house down, and I feel pretty good.

Mmmm. Butter.

I spent most of my childhood being admonished about how easily butter burns. I’m not sure anyone ever mentioned how tasty it could be. But they did mention that you can fix that by using margarine. Or lard.

Greetings from the land of solid, nutritious, and mostly-safe food.

You just don’t ever-under any circumstance-allow other people in your kitchen. Yes, fine. I know they’d tell me the butter is burning, and probably turn the heat down for me so fast I wouldn’t even have a chance to stop them. Yes, fine. Margarine. Uh-huh.

They’ll eat it, anyway, and tell people you’re a good cook.

 

Fighting for My Right… to Sleep

Oh, there is far too much “awake” in my life, right now. It could be the change in the weather–it’s a little too hot for sleep, and a little too cool for air-conditioning, right now. In all honesty, a little air conditioning–if it were warm enough–might kill off some of the allergies that keep me from breathing. And I’m actually getting fairly enthusiastic about my revision, again. (I’m filling in the nice-to-have scenes.)

I’m beginning to suspect the cat might have a hand in it.

The cat spent last night on the Catio, after knocking some things off shelves and waking me up.

And, one of these days, there will have to be a B-A-T-H.

I have some anti-allergy gel that’s supposed to keep him from dandering and me from sneezing. I think it works pretty well, when I keep on top of it.

I’m not really one of those people who always needs more sleep, but more than three or four hours in a night might be nice. And it would be nice if they were arranged in a more convenient pattern, too.

I’m getting that Do I try to sleep for a few more minutes or do I give up and get up? timing.

So, I’m Going To Drown…

I went ahead and bought a neti pot. It’s one of those maybe it’ll help ideas that I’ve been toying with on and off for a while. On the one hand, it’s a really cool idea. In one nostril, out the other, and all kinds of pollens and allergens down the drain. It probably can’t hurt, and it might even help. The people who like it really do like it. The people who don’t already drowned, so they don’t get a vote.

The thin, dry air at the writers’ conference is probably what pushed me over the final bump, along with the idea of some recent studies that correlate antihistamines with Alzheimer’s disease. (And actually, this does make since to me, since Alzheimer’s appears about twice as often in women, and guess what one of the ingredients in Midol is, so goodbye, little pink pills.)

I had a friend… well, okay, he was maybe more of a two-legged house pet… or… class mascot or something… Uhm… well, I digress.

Once upon a time, I knew a boy who was able to insert the ink-tube from a ball point pen into his nose all the way up to the nib, so he’d look pretty much like he’d shoved the whole pen into his nose.

That’s really pretty much everything I remember about him.

Pretty sure Neti Pots can’t get lost in my sinus cavity.

**Crosses fingers**

I am pulling apart the recently finished, pared down, and still necessary scenes from my last butcher job, and adding them to the scenes that I found entirely missing.

I’m not sure what I have left, but it looks as though my word count will come out sane, at this point.