Do you know how hard it is not to weigh yourself? Part of this thing I’m doing involves self acceptance and that somehow involves not caring what those little numbers on the scale add up to. I’m so tempted. I’m so tempted every day to get on them, just a quick, you know, step on, step off, just to see. Just pure curiosity. But I don’t. I haven’t since I started all this. It’s probably a very good thing for my mood, because I know I’m no skinnier than I was when I started. I get up and wonder which bra to put on that won’t cut me in half by the end of the day. As I write this I can feel my belly bulging against my arms. I could just about use it as an arm rest.

At the same time, I listen to the CD every night and I imagine and imagine and imagine myself with that ideal body. Legs that aren’t sort of fused together at the top. An arse that doesn’t come halfway down to my knees. No thighs bulging over chair seats. No feeling of fear as I sit in a chair with arms and wonder if I’ll ever get out, haunted by the thought of spending the rest of my life hunched over with my backside firmly embedded in a piece of moulded plastic furniture.

NO! None of that.

I see slender legs with stretchy pants hanging loose and baggy on them. I see a tight, lean bottie whose gluteus maximi are a pair of power packed icons of the bipedal primate. I see myself sitting cross legged and comfortable on the seat of an aeroplane – in economy class yet (my imagination doesn’t quite stretch to wealth and business class just yet). I feel my arms hugging a concave belly (can you even call it a belly if it’s concave?) I see tops hanging down and being tucked in for the winter.

Somehow that fat’s going to start melting off me any minute now. Any minute. I can just feel it. I can just imagine it.

As usual, finishing the blog with a piccy. This is Possum, Dad, me and Beloved. Haven’t seen Dad for years, but he came for a visit with his wife, who is into family histories. We had a lovely day together and took this photo just before they left. I’m hoping later in the year to go up and stay with them. I want to take part in this year’s Byron Bay Writers’ Festival and Dad and Step Mother live about a half hour drive from Byron.