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Diet Day 240

Ho hum.

Plateau plateau plateau. Boring boring boring. My weight has not shifted meaningfully since April 26.

The last time I was at this weight--stably, that is, not just zipping through it on the way up or down--was a long time ago. Long. I was in my twenties, I'm pretty sure. Long time. I can remember some of the clothes I used to wear in this size, and they were 80s clothes. And 70s clothes. This weight was pretty stable for me over a series of fashion periods.

My body rose to this weight very quickly in a fit of misery and loneliness when my family moved back to the mainland from Hawaii in my senior year of high school. "Don't mind me. I understand why we had to move. Of course it was necessary! Dad was unhappy in his job. I'll just be over here in the corner eating cheese and drinking wine and quietly hating California." And it stuck here for years.

I didn't rise significantly past this weight until another, much later period of loneliness and misery (and shame and shock and horror) following events several years ago that I still don't talk about. (Maybe they'll go in the next novel. I haven't decided yet.)

So it would be natural to suppose that I belong at this weight. But I remember the misery that got me here, and I don't like the symbolism of acceptance. It feels like resignation. I have a goal, dammit, and I'm nowhere near it yet.

So onward I go. Calorie spiking and calorie cycling haven't shifted me from this plateau, not even a little, in six weeks, so I'm making an additional cut in calories, working through a renewed fear of hunger, and hoping to nudge my body back into fat-burning mode with a fresh start at square one.

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