My scale is a damn Greek Siren

I hate my scale, and I don't use the word Hate very often because its a really powerful and yet overused word. When discussing my scale, I can't help but utter the strongest terms possible to describe it. It does not matter if the scale gives me the number I want or the number I dread, it still ends up screwing with my day. 

First off, I wait till I feel at some point I am the lightest I have felt since the last time I stood on the scale. And then I look down as if my feet are planted over a sliver of chasm leading straight to hell and I am standing over it looking in. If the number is favorable, I feel that I need to celebrate the success and want to make it a cheat day. If the number is 'the Devil' then I feel like nothing I've done in the past few days/weeks has mattered and I want to make it a cheat day because, "...watching my portions and food choices ain't working."

I put standing on a scale up there with getting a shot. Complete misery. And don't get me started on how every scale reads just a bit differently than the one you want to trust and of course the average body fluctuates weight on the scale based on what is being worn, what has been consumed that day and all sorts of other real and  ephemeral possibilities. 

I know, I know, don't listen to the scale. Throw it out. Go on how you feel, not what you weigh. How your clothes fit, not the scale. But like the Greek seductress, I am compelled to listen to its words. 

I am not going to exist, I am going to live.