190.2 pounds
Time-out!
Yep, another woopsee-daisy.
I live in a rural, upper middle class subdivision, of which I am the least of.
I am not among the elite, or near elite as my immediate neighbors are.
We have upper class homes to the east and lower middle class homes to the west. I belong well within the west.
I could not possibly care less. They can opt not to ever wave back to me, but I will always grin and wave to them. They may look down at me from their luxury SUV's, but I will continue to blissfully, if not erratically, inline skate like a lemming lunatic down the street, praying to thwump into a Bradford Pear and not sploosh into the "lake" at the base of our 5-home street/subdivision.
I'd rather be looney than uptight. I'd rather have a mind and heart opened by wonder than closed by belief.
Anyway, my home appears to be a wealthy woman's home. It could be. If it were, the quirks would be fixed within days, I have no doubt. As it is, the house is a near money pit. I feel like Shelley Long in more ways than that alone. I'm accident prone.
That d@&#$d Irish Murphey and his law have cursed my Scottish line. I just know it.
Anyway, the latest in a three-year line of systematic red alert melt downs, was the well. The well is no longer housed in a wooden Holly Hobby like romantic housing. It's in concrete. It has a concrete lid that I cannot lift or even slide off without help. The handle bars are made of steel, very thick steel.
Lightening struck the steel.
The steel rods were touching the wiring to the pump.
Gee, who'da thunk steel, electricity and water would be a bad idea?
So, no water for a day, and a hefty bill for the extensive work entailed in removing everything (I swear, the thing is a quarter mile deep with all the gizmos and piping they pulled out).
Several days later, I went back to drinking water from the refrigerator dispenser as normal.
What I did not realize, was my fridge's filter was old. It should've been replaced.
I began drinking water with limestone.
I am now sick.
You see, I have no gallbladder.
It went berserk three years ago and had to be removed.
So. My body wasn't breaking down the chemicals before reaching my kidneys.
My kidneys got overworked and made a formal and loud complaint.
My digestive system is now on strike and production is painful. Did I mention, I am in pain? I am in pain.
With all of this rigmarole to deal with, Op Waist-Dead is gonna have to pause for a few until I can move again. Right now, all I can think about is curling up under the cover of 300 count Egyptian cotton and a heavy comforter and resting my head on a fluffy pillow.
My goal is to be 187.0 by the 15th for my first checkup since the Op began.
But, if life continues being, well, life, I may have to settle for 190.0.
I began at 212 pounds.
Day 60, if I am 187, I will have lost 25 pounds.
I want to make Dr Sharma proud. He's invested so much in my health these past three years; the least I can do is prove how well I've learned.
I'm almost to the 25 pound mark :D
Okay, this is how dorky I am.
I bought a black wall organizer that has a small cork board, dry erase board, a cubby box for markers, an eraser and thumb tacks, and three tiny hooks for light whatevers to hang from. It's from Targét; so it's simple and cute.
It's my 25 pound gift to myself. It's sitting on the floor near my bed, just waiting patiently to be hung in a place of practical cuteness.
Well, I'm off to rest.
Sorry if this blurb is sporadic and tangential, but that's how my mind works. It's just more pronounced when I'm ill.
Toodle-loo y'all!
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