Of all the things which I have considered boring for others to read (but gone ahead and posted about anyway), weight loss ranks as the most boring in my book.

But I'm not going to post about work.
But there's not much point dwelling on my sadness about so many of my friends leaving our small wet town.
But I'm not getting much done in the garden.
But there is no crafting going on currently.
But genealogy is at a minor standstill and isn't easy to write about in a discreet way.
But I have no new and coherent thoughts of a political nature to share right now.
But kitchen creativity is a concept which is practically sepia toned, it was so long ago.

Last weekend a good friend rang me from afar.  In a world of facebook updates, likes and the occasional message, an actual phone call has become a rare treat, something I usually forget is at my disposal.

I'd heard my friend had lost weight and she was kind enough to answer my questions.  Truthfully, I grilled her with a ferocity not quite polite.  My friend, it turns out, weighed the same as I do now, and lost 18 kilos after a significant health scare.  Hmmmmmmmmmmm.  I was hmmmming and thinking and squinting for ages afterwards, possibly ever since our phone conversation.  Like me, my friend hadn't bought into the idea that skinny was the only way to be.  But she wasn't keen on a life on medicines when she was only 39.  She lost the weight, she's feeling great, and she has lost the health problem which prompted her to change her lifestyle.

Day two of no alcohol.  Day two of eating with more care.  Now work has eased off in its intensity, it is much easier for me to take time to make protein and vegetable rich salads for breakfast and lunch.

I often read the articles about health at every size.  They are sound articles and there is only one glitch for me: they advocate health through exercise and I'm still not doing much if any of that.  Somehow, I need to make the change.

How long, how effective, how boring?  I've no idea.  I'm off to bed to read the final sections of Zadie Smith's NW.  Just as in my childhood, the escapism of a novel is a wonderful thing.


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