Death of a fitbit

My fitbit died.

I wonder if this is what killed it:

Probably not - but I do like to think that my fitbit got fed up with walking up and down Michigan Avenue in Chicago and decided to take a well-deserved nap.  My wallet certainly got tired of it (oh, how I've missed you, amply stocked Sephora!).

The replacement (fitbit, not wallet) is coming in the mail.  In the meantime, I'm in withdrawal.  I had to track my gym time this morning in MFP, for crying outloud.  I hadn't realized just how much I'd come to enjoy the positive reinforcement (and immediacy) of the fitbit, and how every day I'd work my tush off to get those 10,000 steps in.

Bootcamp is over - the wife and I did not sign back up for July because we're both going to be out of town next week (her for a family vacation, me for work) and then she's going to be gone the last week of the month as well.  It didn't seem like an effective use of money to pay for 3 weeks of camp and miss two of them.  So we'll go back in August, and for now, I'm getting up before the sun rises to do my time on the treadmill. One day, I won't feel like I'm going to fall off that thing.

In other news, I am down -2.5 pounds this week.  I don't want to sound like an ungrateful asshole (since when, right?) but my supposed calorie deficit from 6/26 to 7/2 was -12,868 last week (and that's with my fitbit going cold on me at lunch on Saturday).  Where's the extra pound?  Oh, TOM.  I hate you.  I feel like a greasy, bloated mess.  And I just want some salt and vinegar potato chips.  I won't have them, but ohgodiwantthem.

And yesterday my wife says to me, "Now that you're losing weight, you'll probably have your period on the regular."  Not the right words, lady.

Also, the woman who shares a wall with me at work is having a birthday today.  Ask me how I know.  Go on, ask.  Oh, fine, I'll tell you - the constantly repeating MIDI versions of "Happy Birthday" emanating from her desk.  Who sends e-cards anymore?  What is this, 2006?