Day 11 of WW

Last night, my dream was this: E was leading me through a massive underground palace in London and we were looking for a place to eat.  I wanted pancakes.  Somehow I got a piece of chocolate cake and started eating it.  It was utterly delicious. Of course, before I could eat the whole piece, my alarm went off.

I actually dreamt that boring, cliched dream. That happened.  It's worse than when I was writing my diss and I would go to bed and dream that I was writing my diss and then I'd wake up and write my diss.  It's worse than that.  It's two words: Weight Watchers.

I know. I know! Things I thought would never happen to me now happen to me all the time (that must be the definition of ageing) so why would WW be any different?  Not being weigh-yourself-every-week sort of people -- we didn't even own a scale -- both E and I were shocked to discover the actual (as opposed to delusional) measurement of our respective weights and pledged to do something about it.  Something painfully monetized.  Something alive with decades and centuries of psycho-dietary knowledge, stretching back through Betty Draper's struggles to be the trophy wife, to the evil of Nazi experimentation and colonial famine, to the trials and sanctification of emaciated ascetics. Something that curls up on a bed of skulls and, seeing one more broken soul, smiles.  It had to be Weight Watchers.

Here's my new life: all food represents a certain point value. I get 26 points a day.  A slice of delicious cheddar cheese is 3 points, a cup of blueberries is 0, a teaspoon of olive oil is 1, a carrot is 0, my usual helping of Favourite Lunch is 22.

TWENTY-TWO.  I'm feeling it.

It's not like I'm starving.  I can eat as much fruit and veg as I can hold.  But sometimes the dog walks by and I think, "He's probably only 56 points total, depending on if I fry him or roast him."

Actually, it's not the food part that's the problem.  I get 49 "Flex Points" a week and I can earn "Activity Points" if I, like, move around and stuff.  So I can have the occasional Favourite Lunch Classique here and there, a mojito or two, even some chocolate cake.  It's all about portion control, making adult choices (how fun!), and balance, and so is, of course, a very positive change.

But there are side-effects.

1) Occasional Diarrhea
Body is *not* used to the massive amounts of fruit and veg (and let's be honest, more fruit than veg) it has been asked to process recently and so, on occasion, freaks out and purges.  Hopefully it will get used to the New Me soon.

2) Recognizing the Addiction/Detox
I think of cheese about every 5 minutes.  I'm seriously not joking.  I guess my subconscious is thinking about chocolate cake and pancakes but those thoughts aren't actually that hard to suppress in my conscious mind.  Forgetting about cheese takes constant vigilance.  Again, hopefully this will decrease in time.

3) Irrational Behaviour and Crazy Fucking Mood Swings
Undoubtedly, this point is related to points 1 and 2.  It is an especially noticeable side-effect when there are two people in a household and they are both on a diet.  Don't get me wrong, it is *wonderful* and *lovely* that E and I are doing this together.  It is a bonding experience that we will cherish forever and, frankly, it would be infinitely more difficult to do this alone while the other person in the household eats what-the-fuck-ever.  But with two people experiencing the same pangs of detox and diarrhea, the crazy gets compounded like a runaway train.  As evidence, I give you the story of:

How Monty Ended Up Going to the Vet For No Reason

Did I mention that we get activity points?  Well, keep that in mind.

Anyhow, two nights ago we were commenting on Monty's recent lethargy and weight-loss.  Was there something wrong with him? What could it be?  Is he just aging? Or is it worse?  Against my better judgement, I shared with E a (now I see irrational) concern I had been keeping in the back of my mind - that, about a month ago, the little bastard had gotten into a box containing a number of chocolate bars and had, of course, eaten about 3.  At the time he'd thrown up and had a bad, bloated night but nothing else seemed to be wrong with him.  Nevertheless, I'd googled the dangers of chocolate for dogs and found all kinds of stories about liver damage.  I shared with her those stories and then said that I had been keeping an eye on him to see if there were any signs of liver damage and so far nothing had surfaced but that this was something that I was thinking about.  We agreed that he appeared normal but *had* been lethargic and did appear to be losing weight.  But also, he seemed fine and whatever.  We then agreed that if Montoya ever didn't want his food we would know that something was gravely wrong with him because he LOVES his food and always prefers it ASAP.

Then we went to bed.  Apparently (I slept through this so have no knowledge of said event) he woke E up in the middle of the night to go outside for a crap - unusual behaviour.  Like I said, I slept through this.  In the morning, I woke up to hear E and Montoya in the kitchen.  I was about to get up when E came into the bedroom, looked at me and burst into tears.  Full-on water works.  Between massive sobs she said, "He," , "won't," , "eat," , blubber, SOB, wail.  

I ran into the kitchen to find the dog tentatively eating his breakfast.  For some reason we were both utterly and completely convinced that he would die of liver failure within the hour.

To shorten this already long story: after rushing him to the vet for an emergency appointment, it turns out that Montoya is in perfect health.  While he hesitated to eat his food that morning it might have been because the person who was giving him the food was giving off the Crazy vibe (and hadn't eaten breakfast herself).  While he did have to crap in the night, he might have just had to crap in the night.

And his recent lethargy and weight loss might be due to the fact that, because we get to eat more stuff by gaining activity points for walking him, he gets about 17 walks a day and it's frigging hot outside.

Weight Watchers is to blame for ALL OF THIS and owes me $65 in vet bills.  I might write them a letter about it today. Right after I post impassioned comments on the Huffington Post re:Tom and Katie's divorce - along with all the other insane people dieters out there.