Don't ask.

It's such a shame that you all know me, because there really are a few people I would love to slag off right now and can't.  Two facedness doesn't work like that.  Unfortunately.

I feel like I am being plagued recently by those who seek my advice yet actually don't wish to take it.  I can only imagine that this is because the advice I am giving is not what they expected to hear, and therefore not the affirmation they were after.   From my own experience (if I am completely unabashedly honest and willing to open myself up for criticism....which I obviously am or I wouldn't be blogging at all) I always seek advice from the friend I know will offer me what I wish to be told.  For example, if I am on yet another of my quests for a slender physique I seek guidance from my sister;  If I want to be assured that 'big is beautiful' and personality is key then I hang with the girls who share my weight issues and the ability to eat eight buns in one sitting; if I need to receive encouragement to stay in wedded misery I consult my parents, and if I am looking for reassurance that running off with the first man who expresses an interest in me is not immoral, I visit my friends of dubious fidelity.   Thus seeking advice is never actually that, more just a case of seeking approval for what  I've  already decided to do.

Obviously my friend though has misjudged me.  Her story can be told in the simile of a food addict: desperately overweight and constantly binging she visits her GP asking for help.  The GP understands, he empathises, he totally 'gets' her need to indulge and the obsession which compels her to do it.  He tell her the facts.  She can continue to gorge, that's fine, IF it makes her happy, but she will never be slim and it could in fact destroy her.  The addict tells her GP she wants to be slim.  She wants it more than anything, including food.  Her fat is a poor companion, it makes her miserable and weighs her down (literally).  It's obvious then that something needs to change.  She leaves the appointment declaring her commitment to making the necessary sacrifices.  However over the course of the next few months she makes no attempt to amend her habits, repeatedly visits the Doctor with cake in one hand, chocolate in the other and mouth overflowing with mushed up pringles,  and continues to maintain that she wants his help and ask for his advice.  (Note to self, do not take cakes in to Doctors next time). 

The point is I have every patience for a person who wishes to change their situation.  What frustrates me is the incessant complaints of those who make no attempt to alter anything yet keep asking  the same question "what should I do?".  Well I've told you what to *!@*ing do but you don't want to do it you daft cow.   And yes I am a back stabbing hypocrite, and possibly the last person you should come to for advice.  Unless that is it's advice on how to be a back stabbing hypocrite.

So today.  Got on the scales this morning and nearly fell to my knees in despair (this is where the hypocrite part comes in).  I have regained a couple of pounds (at an outside guess I'd say this is probably related to my eating, or failure to stop) and feel like a hopeless super blob.   So you could argue that I, like my hypothetical over-eating friend, am caught up in a cyclical moan, eat, moan, eat, moan, eat  situation but I like to think that I at least intersperse my moan/eats with a few 'tries to jog', 'loses weight' and 'puts it all back on again's.  And anyway her problem is not food, it was just a simile - and a bit of a crappy one at that.

The good news is that it's my birthday in two weeks; well I say good news but at 36 no birthdays are ever really that (although I'm not too keen on putting an end to them either) but it does mean I'll get some cash.  And cash equals more input to my Thai black-market plastic surgery fund.  Apparently it's the cheapest place in the world to go for it, with the main drawback being the work is only guaranteed for six months.  That's okay however because the Staphylococcus Aureus will usually have killed you by then.

Also this evening I visited Danny's future secondary school.  He has induction days tomorrow and Friday and I felt a responsibility to forewarn them of the impending chaos which was about to manifest itself.   Taz of Tasmania kind of mayhem.  Spoke with the SEN (Special Educational Needs) Coordinator who said to Danny, and I quote "Dan, you don't have a problem, just a diffability".  Yes, that's right, 'diffability', for once this is not merely a typo.   Naturally as she said it I assumed she had a lisp, and decided it was truly an unfortunate challenge for someone in her position who probably has to use the word 'disability' several times a day.   Seconds later, prompted I assume by the look of incomprehension on my face,  she clarified the matter  "that's right,  not a disability, a diff-ability - you're just a child with a difference".  Well it's kind of sweet I suppose, although two things concern me.    Firstly that changing the word 'disability' to something more palatable re-enforces to those with one that it is a bad thing (or why try to fluff around it) and secondly that my son will look like a complete moron if he goes about telling his mates he is 'Dan the Difffabled'.....

....Dan the soon to be having his head stuffed down a toilet more like.