Firstly, one of my weaknesses has always been that I filter my words through fear of causing emotional harm to people. (Yeah, it comes from something I did when I was a kid) I don't say what I am thinking and feeling which lands me in all kinds of shit, usually worse shit than the shit I was trying to avoid. It is my intent to use this blog to express myself unfiltered and use it as a part-measure to gauge progress in the real world.

I find myself in the present wondering if I am heading toward a mid-life crisis. You know questioning the decisions I have made up to this point. I'm trying to change myself where needed but I don't seem to be getting anything right. My fashion is off and it's not helping I seem to be between sizes. I can't seem to get a grip on my finances - though I have no debt (except mortgage), I seem to make decent progress and life slings some shit at me (white goods breaking down, car repairs, dental work, etc.) and the savings are gone again.

Work is going okay, though I work in a high stress environment, it's close to home, pays decent and the people are great and the women are very hot. I've never been good with women, not in the way I want of course. When I was younger, my best mate at the time could make women wet just by walking in the room. Yeah, I've been trying to get to that stage. Piss poor progress.

Part of the reason is my fucking weight. I didn't care much before. I guess deep down I believed the "looks don't matter" shit. I was going to type the opposite to that sentence, but changed it when I tried to justify the statement. What other reason could there be? If I seriously thought I looked good, I clearly wasn't looking in a mirror - even though I have tons of full length mirrors. It took placing cameras around my home and reviewing the footage to see what a fucking numpty I looked, clothes, physique, and body language.

Anyway, going back a bit further than that, at a routine trip to see a nurse (who I once mistook for a younger version of herself) for my yearly check-up, I got weighed. Nearly off the scales. What. The. Fuck? A. Fat. Fuck. That's. What! Twenty-Four Fucking Stone. I had no fucking idea. I promptly bought myself a Rack, Bar, Weights and Bench and got to work while cutting out Carbs and Sugar. The weight fell off like an ex-nuns knickers. I got down to 17 stone. Lost over around a two and a half year period. I could have lost more.

Then, what? 4 months ago, I lost discipline. I stopped lifting and my diet has gone back to shit again and I'm putting the weight back on. People at work comment saying that I'm losing weight, but I'm not. They are deluded. On top of that, I'm trying to stop smoking... and the weed. I smoke a shit-ton of weed. I tried over and over to quit. I cave. I buy. Then cry.

So, enough is enough. It's time to shake things up. I've been where I want to be and it was decent... and, it was always getting better. I loved it. So, the plan is to use #NoNothingNovember to kick-start myself back into action.

Tip Agnosaru for their post.