Pride comes before a fall

Pride might not be my favourite of the seven deadly sins, but it’s definitely in my top 3. Yesterday was my second Gay Pride, and I liked it a lot more than last year. I wore a daft pink wig, I was bedecked in all the colours of the rainbow. And I was relatively tame when you compare me with anyone else who was there.

I love my tribe. I love the gays. There were boys wearing nothing but their underpants, a sparkly dicky bow and a pair of high heels. There were such glamorous drag queens. There were gays with babies. There were the very middle-aged Gay Hikers. There were bespiked lesbians. Mr Gay Cork and Mr Gay Clare were hanging out together in their county colours and their sashes. There were onesies and mankinis and sequinned bras and three-foot-high wigs.

And as we marched, the people of Dublin stood and watched us and photographed us and waved at us and clapped at us. I was one of the animals in a beautiful gay circus and everyone wanted to see me. I loved it. Strangers photographed me. At least three different teenage girls asked me where I got my necklace. And I felt proud.

I felt tired too. It had been a long week. I’m still feeling very rundown. I’ve spent between 12 and 18 hours lying down every day this week. My ankles, my knees and my shoulders are in constant pain. The short walk for the Pride parade (from the Garden of Remembrance to Merrion Square) completely took it out of me. The doctor says I just need to lose weight. It didn’t even occur to me to go drinking or partying after for Pride. I was at home in bed by 6:00 pm, nearly crying with tiredness.

I’ve been working a fair bit this week. And I’ve been in and out of college a lot. But it hasn’t been a great week for transcribing. The Great White Hope that was the transcribing pedal seems to have come to naught. I can’t get it to work with my computer. And no one else seems to be able to do anything with it either. The other day, I met the colleague (one of the other Assistant Wardens) who’d lent me the pedal. She asked me how I was getting on with the pedal. Now, if I was a normal adult person, I would have said that I couldn’t get it to work and asked if she had any advice. But I’m me. And I need everyone to be pleased with me, so I said, “Oh, it’s going great. It’s really sped transcribing up. Thanks so much.” Someday, I’ll be one of those truthy people. Just not yet.

But even though I’m feeling rundown, and I’m busy, and transcribing isn’t going my way, it’s been a good week. I’ve felt happy. And I’ve been eating well. I couldn’t believe that I followed my diet two weeks in a row, but I did.

I measured my waist this afternoon. Another half-inch off: now 59 inches (149.8 cm). Good. I went to Boot’s to weigh myself. It’s rare that I genuinely can’t believe a weigh-in result. I was so incredulous that I paid another euro and weighed myself a second time. It was exactly the same. This week, I weigh 25 stone 6 pounds (356 pounds or 161.4 kilos). I’ve gained 3 pounds since last week.

I have no explanation for this. I know last week’s loss was ridiculously high, and I couldn’t expect much this week, but I ate the same this week as I did last week. I am stumped by the scales.

Still, I can’t complain. I weigh a stone less than I did two weeks ago, and my waist is three inches smaller. I didn’t eat myself to the point of sickness once this week. I wasn’t even uncomfortably full once this week. And my insides feel better than they have in at least nine months. I have had both a fruit and a vegetable every day for two weeks. I have drunk water every day for two weeks. These are big changes for me. And I feel much happier and much more in control as a result.

So this week has been a victory, a real victory, and I’m going to keep on keeping on.

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