The last time I lost a lot of weight was in the year when I started my relationship with Debbie. (I talk about it here, though by that time the trend was reversing itself.) The last time before that was during the year after Wife was arrested; Boyfriend 4 was living with us and had taken over from me the task of cooking dinner every night; and so I was able to drop out from eating a big dinner every night. I couldn't sit up late and drink because I wanted privacy for that, and Boyfriend 4 would be hanging out in the living room. So I would go to the gym to work out in the evenings, and then come home and go straight to bed. I was trying to escape from my life, clearly. And I once characterized it to someone as spending a whole year "too depressed to eat." So I dropped a lot of weight. (Incidentally, this story explodes the theory I float here that weight loss is (necessarily) a consequence of happiness.)
But what these two periods have in common is that they both represented a substantial upheaval in my normal routine. So my new hypothesis is that maybe what triggers weight loss for me is a big change in routine. If life becomes very different, then it is at the same time more dynamic, more engaging, and busier. I have less time to eat, and I have more things to distract me. So I eat less and lose weight.
If this turns out to be true, then the move to Sticksville will be a big help to me, because it will give me a chance to shed some of the weight I have packed on during quarantine. I guess I'll know soon enough.
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