I am down .8 pound from yesterday, but my body fat is up.   It’s a significant enough break in pattern that I think it’s bad data.  The body fat readings are a guide, but they’re not accurate.

The scale is in front of the bathroom mirror, so every time I step on, I see the progress in the mirror as well as on the scale.  This morning, I knew I had dropped weight.  I could see it before I saw the number.

Looking in the mirror, I also became fixated on how fat my thighs are.  It’s like my most recent obsession with being short-waisted.  I have made enough progress on my diet that I can obsess over things that are completely unrelated to being fat-fat.  It’s no longer about what fits . . . it’s about what looks best.  It’s no longer about being globulous; it’s about looking fitter.

Yes, I still have more than ten pounds to go.  (More than that, perhaps, depending on how my clothes fit at 125).  I have not made much progress over the past couple of weeks — I have been losing body fat, but my weight has been bouncing around.

I should be inconsolable this morning, but I am actually hopeful.  Yesterday was really bad.  So bad I wrote and wrote and wrote and then privatized the post realizing my mother does not need to know the depths of my despair.  

Today, I feel more hopeful for no good reason.  I am an unrepentant optimist.  

<career rant>

I spent much of the day pondering my resume.  My resume is jacked up.  Seriously, I can think of no time in the past 10 years when I have not had at least two jobs.  Even now, I hold many jobs and offices . . . I am just poor.  

The poverty finally got to me.  My life is a series of aggravations, humiliations, embarrassments, and disappointments.  It’s not supposed to be like this.  I work too hard, I have too much experience, and I have achieved too much to be living like this.

No one knows how bad it truly is except F, and he cannot appreciate it.  I know I have been some horribly bad choices — foregoing a salary being chief among them — and I have been punished severely for them.

I sat yesterday morning and cried, thinking I now have a new level of financial horror I did not think I could reach.  It’s no longer about choosing between food and allergy medicine.  It’s about choosing between power, internet, and phone.  Nice.   Thank goodness I have almost no expenses.  

I have no idea how things will change.  I have some proposals out.  I have my agent working for me.  I have my mythic deal floating in the ether.  But, I need to survive now.  </career rant>

The hardest thing is telling people that I am not making it, that I am failing, that I need help.  I know my friends and close associates would be horrified that I had not come to them sooner, if I ever tell them.  One of them, jerkface, attacked me via group email with our closest friends about the fact my cell phone is off: “Whats up with that [Planner].” Jerkface, who I bailed out and helped support when he needed it. I so fucking hate this guy right now.  So I told them the truth.  No apology from him.  

I had to cancel on my plans with them tonight for stupid, in retrospect, reasons.  I was going to tell them the truth and ask for help.  I still need to tell them the truth and ask for help.  

I need help.

Then I need to find a job with a salary because I am tired of this bullshit.

Despite all of this, I am still hopeful and optimistic that things will improve.  I just need that improvement to be my now.