The ghoulies must have been working overtime this year. On the last Thursday before Halloween, I was overcome by a strange masochistic urge to - gasp! - weigh myself. It was horrific. I've had a faint idea of how high my number must be for some time, but as I stood on that scale, it felt as if those three red numbers seared themselves into my brain. I tried to convince myself that it was a good thing to know and understand even the hard facts (knowledge is power and all that). My true self was not having any of that mind-over-matter bullshit and my mental defenses soon crumbled. I moped around whilst biting back the tears. Crying about my weight felt like a right I had not earned. If you don't vote, you can't complain. So where exactly could I go with all my weighty woes? First, I prayed . Then, I could not stop talking about it. Oh boy! I kept yapping on and on to anybody who'd listen (or failed to flee the line of fire fast enough). You see, yes, I to