Humph. (Givinya)

This week, starting on last Weigh-In Wednesday, I've been in a completely different place.

Last Tuesday, my biggest life goal was to lose weight.

Starting last Wednesday, my biggest goal has been basic emotional survival.

I've been violently opposed to moving, distraught about moving, accepting about moving, tentatively excited about moving, terrified about moving and absolutely sick in the guts about moving.

When it all comes down to it, I don't want to move. It's a truly bad idea.

I have exercised zero times, had a few nights of weight-decreasing worrying, had a few days of Dammit I'll Eat What I Want To, and a good dose of I-don't-care-how-fat-I-get.

Net result: 68 kilos, after the mindless drinking of water first thing in the morning. Approximately the same, maybe a slight gain.

I've just had a phone call from the beautiful kindy teacher at Sonny's new kindy for next year, asking if we are moving or we aren't moving ... because someone else really needs the kindy place if we're moving ...?

I got off the phone and collapsed in a puddle of tears. If I play it safe and pull him out (of the nice kindy that was supposed to make up for all the crap I've had to put up with from this year's ghastly kindy teacher) well, that is really beginning to cut ties with this place that I love in a very real way.

I talked to Mr de Elba and we decided to keep him in kindy for Term 1. We can't envisage being ready to move before Easter anyway. At least it will keep him out of my hair 3 days a week for packing and stuff. And I get to feel like I've sent him to the lovely kindy at least for a few months, even if there's nowhere with a spare place for him for the rest of the year in Toowoomba.

I guess in that case, he can have a "gap" year, like a lot of school-leavers have before starting Uni.

Ha ha ha haa aa a a sob sob sob ...