Sunday, April 30, 2006

It's been a good, busy few days. Got a bunch of yardwork done, which has been weighing on me -- mostly because the evidence that it wasn't done was displayed across 1/4 of our side of the street. It's a lot easier to put off something that gets lost in a pile on my desk, you know? Anyhoo, my perennials still haven't come (plant maturity delayed by weird weather out west), which is probably good because I don't have the planting area ready. *sigh* I have been talking about the same stupid shit lately, haven't I?

Well, in other news, my 22-year-old my step-brother (who I haven't seen or spoken to since I was probably 11 or 12) died in his sleep a few days ago. He got hit by a drunk driver while walking to the store one evening in the fall 2003 and has been a quadriplegic since. I have only heard bits and pieces about the whole ordeal because I am estranged from my father (by choice) and have as little to do with him as possible. I realize that may sound cold, but if you knew the way my father and his wife live, you'd understand. Anyway, my brother and sister, who are in contact with him and were also with Jake (my step-brother) are flying out here tomorrow for the wake and funeral. I am getting major pressure from my mother to "show them (my father's side of the family) that I have some class" and attend with them, but as I told her, I have no desire to show them anything. I know I have class and I have nothing to prove to them or any desire to try. Further more, my turning up at his funeral would cause a stir because I am the missing weirdo daughter that everyone gossips about. So now I am trying to figure out if it really is the right thing to do -- to go -- and if I do, am I going for myself, my siblings, Jake or my father? Perhaps it is good etiquette to attend, but the truth is: Jake was more or less a stranger to me. I haven't known him since he was seven years old. It somehow seems like it would be inappropriate to show up now. But maybe I am just trying to rationalize... *sigh* I don't know what to do.

Posted @ 7:16 PM

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Last night I dreamed that I was being stung by a massive swarm of killer bees. They were crawling all over me, covering my face and arms. Someone was watching this happen to me and said, "Don't worry -- the really poisonous ones have much longer wings," and for a moment, I thought I could deal with the fear and pain solely because there were no long-winged killer bees on me and that was good news. Then I saw them start to land on me.

I don't know how I got out of that predicament (because every time I tried to shake them off and run away, more came and continued to sting), but I eventually found myself beeless and covered with horrible, disfiguring swollen sores. The weirdest part? Though I didn't wake up, I was not upset at this point in my dream because I knew it was only a dream. I am sort of stunned that my unconscious mind was so fully immersed that I even felt the stings, yet somehow a bigger part of me was conscious that it wasn't real. *shakes head* Just thought it was odd. Maybe I'm nuts. OK, save the comments on that one...

Hope everyone's having a lovely morning. I have to be to work at 1:30. I haven't had the nerve to call and see if Barb is there. Part of me hopes not -- because she should be home healing -- but part of me hopes yes, too. She's the type of person that the longer she puts off something uncomfortable (returning to the scene of the attack, in this instance, to face yet more dogs), the more she will build it up in her head and the harder it will be to face. *sigh* I don't know what to wish for her, so I will just say that I wish the aftermath will be as painless as possible, in all applicable ways.

Posted @ 9:35 AM

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Today must have been Complete Fucking Idiot Day and no one told me. The day was peppered with the usual, but two situations in particular made me seriously consider whether I am in the right line of work...

Situation A:
1:15pm Owner runs over his own dog with his very large truck.
1:30pm Wife calls us. Doctor out at lunch/errands and 45 minutes away. Techs are all on lunch and not in the building. I am a client services director and do not perform life-saving measures. I tell owners to go to the emergency clinic (about 20 minutes away) to make sure the dog is stable. Owner doesn't want to drive that far. I tell her -- with some insistence -- that she has no other choice. She reluctantly agrees to go.
1:45pm O still doesn't want to drive to emergency clinic (if she shut the fuck up in the first place, she would have been 5 minutes away at this point.) Dog is now vomiting blood. I tell her again she must seek emergency treatment. Owner hems and haws and finally decides to go to the one area clinic I didn't suggest (because I wouldn't trust them to even cut my dog's nails and while my doc took off for a couple hours during lunch, their doc is almost never there.) Owner's husband calls clinic on his cell and is told there is a doctor there. Off they go.
2:30pm Owner calls and says someone at the aforementioned clinic is administering stabilizing treatments, but it is not the vet because he's not there. I ask her who it is and she says she doesn't know.
3:00pm Owner calls and says she's transferring the dog to us -- I still don't know why. Not sure if she finally "got it" about the other vet or what.
As of this evening... Dog stable, doing well. I feel sorry for her that her owners made her wait for an hour and fifteen minutes for emergency care because they didn't want to leave the immediate area. Ugh. *bang head here*

Situation B: Lady shows up hysterical that something is "wrong" with her dog and he needs immediate attention. For liability reasons, I do not assess whether an animal is in critical condition or not; I leave that to the techs, so I paged for help and Barb went outside to see what the story was. The woman (who is not a client of ours), opens up the back of her SUV and the supposedly critical dog hops out like nothing's wrong. My doc, operating in emergency mode, whisks the dog to the treatment area to figure out what the issue is. After he enters the building, I see through the window that Barb is standing with the owner and there is a second dog in the car, which the owner has by a leash. In a split second, the dog slips out of its collar and lunges at Barb, biting her right in the face. Barb comes running into the building with her hand over her mouth and blood everywhere, followed by the friggin idiot client who is irritated that the doc has to take Barb to the ER and won't be able to see her obviously stable dog. Client paces like a robot saying, "I can't believe this. I friggin can't believe this." I call her vet and let them know what happened and that we're shipping her over to them. Later on they fax us the record of her visit, which states that the owner believes the dog bit Barb on the hand and didn't break the skin... PEOPLE LIKE THIS MAKE ME HATE EVERYONE!!!

I am trying to think positive for Barb, but as I was trying to help her stop the bleeding, it looked like the dog had almost completely ripped her upper lip off. I talked to her after the urgent care place discharged her to go see the plastic surgeon for suturing and she seemed to be in good spirits, so maybe it's not as bad as it looked. *sigh* And you know what she said? She said, "I'm glad it was me and not Dianne," who is getting married in three weeks and totally paranoid about cat scratches and other animal-related wounds until after the big day. Barb is such a good person. I so hope she's alright. I don't think I would be.

Posted @ 7:49 PM

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

I realized just now that I more or less stopped writing poetry when I started journaling, blogging, ranting, raving -- whatever you wanna call it. Poetry used to be how I purged, how I got my thoughts in order -- albeit abstractly -- and now I have this journal to fill that role. My creative juices have been sand-bagged away from art and directed into...well, a generic blog. Bleh. That sucks.

I have been mildly inspired lately (mildly not from lack of emotion, but from lack of creativity) to write about the children a couple of friends of mine have lost over the last few years. I have this gorgeous poem stirring and I can almost taste it, smell it, hear it... but it is nevertheless failing miserably to materialize. Too much juice flowing away from the beauty that used to pour from my pen. *sigh* What's a girl to do?

Posted @ 9:57 PM

*groan* Ever wake up in the middle of a dream (not by your own choice, of course) and find yourself feeling about the same weight as a small pick-up truck and about as clear-headed as a tub of Play-Doh? Well, that's me this morning. I was in the middle of this weird dream involving the beach, a boat, my dog and another pitbull, a tropical bird of some sort, Jay, summer camp and pretty much every guy I ever wanted and couldn't have. (The ones I did have who weren't worth the effort were notably absent from this dream.) Anyway, Indie woke me up just as I was watching a band of girls trash our summer camp cabin, in the style of The Parent Trap, except the string they were winding around the bedposts was part of something another girl had been knitting and everyone know she was going to be devastated that it was destroyed. Fucking weird. Don't think I'll be trying to decipher this one with my shrink -- after all, I only have an hour. *yawn*

Somehow I slept in until almost 10 today. I have to be at work at 1:30. I am trying to get up the motivation to take Indie for a walk. It's been cold and rainy for the last few days, so we haven't gone and she's starting to give me those eyes... The ones that say: I've been good and I love you sooooo much. Why have you taken away one of the only things I love? Well, that's what I imagine they say. They probably actually say: Why are you staring at me?

Guess I should go. It's good for us both, right?

Posted @ 10:04 AM

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Stinky (aka Indie, Goon Dog, etc.) loves to be loved while she has her chewy in her mouth. It's bliss for her I guess, to get a chewy and a belly rub at the same time. She even moans softly with happiness. Isn't it friggin adorable? I love my dawg, pain in the ass though she may be.

Today I went to Dianne's bridal shower, ate some food (which has since given me major GI upset), played some cheesy games and made a break for it as soon as each table got two rolls of T.P. for use in decorating the bride. They were seriously going to make us create a wedding dress out of toilet paper. Is this traditional? If so, I have never been so sure that when the time comes, I don't want to go traditional. I don't mean to sound ungrateful -- I appreciated being invited and everything -- I just loathe chick functions. I go to them because it is expected of me, but I don't have to like it, right? I am like the anti-chick. Lol. OK, not all the time; I do have my pink scarf and mittens. However, most cliche girl activities are not my cup of tea. I don't want to sit around and gush and squeal. No siree.

I don't really have anything else to share. Tomorrow is chore day -- oh what fun! I will most likely think of something stupid to blog about to divert myself from doing laundry or other mandatory task. Until then...

P.S. Did you know that Blogger spellchecker doesn't know the word "blog?" How funny.

Posted @ 9:44 PM

Thursday, April 20, 2006

*yawn* Half days are half awesome; it's kind of a cruel bait and switch on my brain that I get to sleep in but still have to go to work later. Don't get me wrong -- I love my job. We've hit the spring rush though and it's been pedal to the metal all day every day and I am pooped!

Bleh. I guess I'm not really in the mood to blog, so I'll just leave it at that. Lol. How self-indulgent of me. Well, it is my blog after all.

Posted @ 9:08 AM

Sunday, April 16, 2006

Shameless birthday wishlist: CLICK.

I've officially joined the ranks of the web beggars. What is the world coming to?

Posted @ 4:19 PM

Friday, April 14, 2006

Well, I have lost 4 pounds as of today. I just went through my Weight Watchers box of goodies, which came today, and although it's exactly what Barb and Jenn explained to me (principles which I have been applying for the last week), somehow seeing the books and charts and official copyrights makes it seem more serious and complicated and difficult. I guess I just have to remind myself that it's already working - all I have to do is keep it up.

I have been walking with Indie a lot lately. I have a "loop" I do which takes ten minutes, walking briskly, and I've been doing it before work, on my lunch break and again if I'm home before dark. My legs already feel stronger and Indie is soooo happy. She's much more relaxed and less neurotic lately. I am always telling people with highly intelligent, energetic dogs that they key to keeping them from becoming totally obnoxious is activity. You'd think I would have wised up and taken my own advice way before now... I guess I have just lacked the motivation, plus there was nowhere safe to walk where I lived in Manchester and we're just coming out of winter, which is not very conducive to outdoor activity if you're me (and Indie - who won't wear booties in the snow but also refuses to walk if her feet get cold.) *shrugs*

I got a bunch of little shrubs at the grocery store last weekend 'cause they were only $13.99 each and all fairly nice specimens. Not like when WalMart has poinsettias on sale at Christmas, for example, and each one has like three red leaves on it. Anyhoo, I got a Dwarf Korean Lilac, a Burning Bush, a Purple Gem Rhododendron and an Emerald Green Arborvitae. The lilac already has tiny little purple buds on it. I have to get them in the ground this weekend.

It's been incredibly busy at work - spring has sprung. Here's one of the reasons I love my job:

Bubbles & Keebler

Anyway, just wanted to touch base. Happy weekend, y'all!

Posted @ 9:09 PM

Sunday, April 09, 2006

DISCLAIMER: I got a cup of coffee at like 6pm and I am rattling away like a lunatic.

I am on a somewhat scary shopping kick lately. Not only did I spend all that money at the mall last weekend, yesterday I had a pair of Crocs sent to George (step-father) because he liked my mom's and he's done a lot for me. Earlier today I went to WalMart and bought the bulbs and miscellaneous items described in the post below. (Narnia was awesome, incidentally.) Later, I went out to Walgreens for photo paper and came home with that plus body lotion and a few other things. A few hours ago, I ordered more Crocs -- another pair for myself and a pair for my sister. Then I joined Weight Watchers online. Now I've just purchased all the plants you see in the pic above. It does seem a bit excessive to me, but I am a total penny pincher and I guess it feels good to be able to splurge now and again. Besides, a good chunk of it is house stuff (the bulbs, plants, shovel, shrubs, etc.), and I am not about to apologize for that. This is my first house we're talkin' about! Anyhoo...

Question for any gardeners who might be reading: I live in Zone 5. The azaleas I bought at WalMart were presumably grown indoors and are already in full bloom. Azaleas in New Hampshire are currently a ways from blooming. If I get these new ones in the ground and prune them (heh, I initially spelled that "proon" - coffee coffee coffee!!! Weeeeeeeeee!), will they acclimate better and possibly bloom again this season?

Eeeeek. I have so much friggin diggin to do!!

Ooooh, I almost forgot the best part. I had a moment of intellectual pride this evening when I put my problem solving skills to the test. (That doesn't happen often, so even the littlest things amaze me). You see, in a burst of spring fever, I started my seeds way to early and they're already huge. They still have to stay indoors 'cause it's too cold, but the cats are now trying to eat them -- and for those of you who might not know, morning glories, which are about 40% of my seedlings, are toxic to cats! The only safe place I could find for them was a three-shelf wrack in my kitchen, around which I wrapped a piece of translucent plastic and put the flat of seedlings inside, creating a sort of "cell," if you will. Well, it still didn't get enough light and it was a pain in the ass to get it out and water everything, so this is my solution:

Ain't I a genius? Lol. Just kidding. All I needed was a hammer, two nails and some string. I suspended it from the window that gets the most light. Cats can't reach, watering will be easy, plenty of sun. Voila!

Yup, I'm quite pleased with myself. Anyway, I should probably go try to bore myself to sleep or something. We have company coming tomorrow and it'll be no good if I'm still in bed when they get here. Sweet dreams!!

Posted @ 12:27 AM

Saturday, April 08, 2006

I talked to Jay for a while last night about Nova. Part of me is admonishing myself for feeling so sad - after all, he's not my baby, I've never even met him, I've never even met his mother. Hell, we've only known each other online for a little over a year. I am sick to my stomach over it though; I am grieving and mourning his loss so much more intensely than I ever would have anticipated. I try to tell myself that he's in a better place and it doesn't do anybody any good to dwell on it, but thinking about the fucking tragedy of it all makes me feel like someone is trying to pull my guts out. I don't really know how to grieve, I guess. I don't know where grieving becomes fixating. I am wondering if I'm running energy for Erin (cords, for those who may remember), because this can't all be my pain, it just can't. But maybe... I'm boggled by the whole thing, to be totally honest. Anyway...

I just got back from WalMart where I got Narnia, a shovel, six azaleas (50% off!), some chewies and two wicker dog beds for Eenie (also on sale!) and a ton of bulbs. They'll look good if that damn mutant squirrel doesn't dig them up before they can bloom. He's gotta be the size of a small cat and has quite a stash, lemme tell ya. He's very happy that I raked, because since then, he's been able to dig up all the acorns he buried in the fall and my yard is peppered with holes. *sigh* I'm not really annoyed, it's just something I've never had to worry about, living in a third floor condo.

Hope everyone's having a lovely weekend.

Posted @ 12:42 PM

Friday, April 07, 2006

Posted @ 6:53 AM

Thursday, April 06, 2006

I realize that it's New Hampshire and I realize that this happens every year and we shouldn't bitch about the inevitable -- and honestly, kind of a right of passage for spring in the Northeast -- but seriously...

I had to bust out the scraper and shovel again yesterday.

Posted @ 6:07 AM

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Yesterday was a good day until I accidentally stepped off the raised wooden walkway in the dark, lost my balance and landed on my good (though maybe not anymore) knee. Purty, ain't it? I don't think I've ever seen a bruise appear so fast. I put Arnica on it and iced it with a bag of peas (no icepacks in my house) immediately and I am quite sure that's why I'm mobile today. Woulda been worse.

Jenn and I had a blast at the mall. I got an MP3 player so I will have something to listen to when I take Indie for walks. Also got a cute ring and choker at Sears, a bunch of anti-bacterial hand lotions for work, and a copy of The Chronicles of Narnia, which Jenn and I want to read before we see the movie. I think I read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when I was a kid, but I don't remember a thing. So I'm looking forward to that.

Today I went to get groceries and also stopped at Bootleggers and got a pair of Crocs for myself and a pair for my mom. These are a huuuuuge trend in my neck of the woods right now and most stores have very slim pickings. Although I am generally opposed to anything trendy, I have always been a fan of comfortable (even if not beautiful) footwear. I was ready to buy another pair of Birkenstocks when much to my horror, I discovered that they're now upwards of $100 a pair, and that's just for the sandals. What I really wanted was clogs, which were in the vicinity of $130. Well, I decided to get me a pair of Crocs for $29.99 instead and I love them. I highly recommend them. Be careful with sizing though; they run a bit large and there are two versions that look similar but have different sizing: the Beach model and the Cayman model. Beaches are sized as follows: women's XS(4-5), S(6-7), M(8-9), L(10-11) and XL(12-13). I fit into a Small Beach (6-7) at the mall yesterday (didn't buy 'cause they didn't have any colors I liked). The Caymans are sized in whole numerical sizes and the 8 was my best fit. So know what you're buying and try them on!

Also wanted to share this pic:

I planted these on Monday and the morning glories, which I seem to have a way with, came up on Wednesday. They're supposed to take 10-14 days to germinate! I forgot how out of control they get inside... I started a bunch inside a few years ago and by the time I could put them outside, they had climbed my house plants and were creeping up the walls. Maybe that's why I like them: they're a bit manic.

Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who has commented and been supportive regarding my last post. I have to admit, it feels good not to hide it anymore, not to be the only one who knows. Secret's out! I don't know where I go from here, but just having you guys there makes it seem easier. Much love and thanks for that.

Posted @ 2:41 PM

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Ack. It's been a crappy week -- except that it was almost 70° here yesterday which was awesome and unheard of for March in New Hampshire. Today it's still warm, but gloomy. Rain comin'. Oh well. It's spring. At least we don't have any snow left (again, unheard of in New Hampshire at this time of year!)

First, let me tell you that it is a ginormous step for me to talk about this with anyone, let alone put it on display for the masses, so please be kind. *sigh* I had a complete spastic crying fest on Tuesday regarding my eating habits and weight. My entire life, I have been on the borderline of one eating disorder or another. I say borderline, because although I am probably deluding myself, I don't believe I've ever been disorderly enough to be diagnosable, but again...probably part of the issue: denial.

When I was a kid, after my parents started their divorce process (took six miserable years to complete and was a stress fest for us kids), I started taking way too much enjoyment in food. My mom would buy the cheap Sunbeam miltipacks of various unhealthy snacks and send us to school with them. I would steal a few at a time and go hide and eat them and deny it even when she was crying that one of her kids was lying right to her face. I did the same every time my sister and I made cookies. I'd grab a bunch and go hide and eat. Same goes for tubs of Duncan Hines frosting: grab a tub, grab a spoon, go hide in my room. I can't explain why, though I am beginning to think it's comparable to any kind of addict... It was a compulsion. By eighth grade, the doctors would have said I was about fifty pounds overweight, according to their charts.

In high school, I started hanging out with the cool, older kids. I started smoking cigarettes and pot. I walked to school a lot because I liked the thought of myself being a loner on the road (I know that sounds lame, but it's the truth.) I lost ten pounds probably from the walking, but as my mother was in the depths of depression and didn't provide much in the way of groceries, I still loaded up on Little Debbies and junk food down at the local mini-mart because they were cheap, tasty and readily available. Eventually I decided to just stop eating all together, once people noticed the ten pounds I'd lost. It seemed like the quickest way to continue my good progress. I had read about anorexia and bulimia in magazines and considered myself educated on the subject to the point that I could mimic the behavior without actually suffering the disease or disorder or whatever you want to call it -- again, the thoughts of someone already suffering a very unhealthy thought process.

So, I refused to eat. My vision went black often and I'd almost passed out. Somehow I rationalized it. When I did eat, it was usually crap and on occasion, I would make myself throw it all up. I lost another ten pounds.

Somewhere along the line, I grew out of it. I ate again, fairly "normally," and put ten pounds back on. I graduated forty pounds overweight according the doctor's charts. The manic need to overeat and to eat crap and to hide it was still there in the back of my mind, but quieter. Quiet enough that I could ignore it most of the time. There were things I wanted more than the feeling of eating -- I wanted boys, sex, fun, attention.

I didn't go to college. All my friends did. I got a job at a health food store the next town over. The need got louder and I told myself that anything I ate there was good for me, so I ate and ate and ate. I was lonely and bored most of the time. I gained thirty pounds.

Somewhere along the line, twenty-five of that was lost. I started living with my abusive boyfriend and his best friend -- both alcoholics. I stayed up all night making sure they didn't burn the place down when they passed out with lit cigarettes. We barely ever had money for groceries. I lived on NoDoz and Gatorade. I didn't gain or lose any weight.

I moved back to my parents' house for a little bit and then eventually back out on my own. I would estimate that I put on another ten pounds then, with no one to see me wolf down Ben & Jerry's and eat entire pizzas by myself as the compulsion grew again. There was the occasional purging, but not often.

I moved to Manchester. I had a job I loved. I maintained my weight by eating reasonably (grading on a curve of my own patterns.) I probably went up or down five pounds, but it wasn't anything remarkable.

I quit that job and became a totally depressed, dysfunctional human being. I stayed up all night long chatting online, I slept all day, I had subs and pizza delivered with the money I shouldn't have been spending. Never went anywhere and rarely saw the light of day. I gained probably forty pounds in three months.

Started new job. Still lonely and bored. Gained another twenty pounds -- a seventy pound difference from my lowest high school weight. I was somehow in denial about how big I was, even when I had to keep buying larger jeans and huge, formless shirts. Eventually, I decided something had to give.

The wake-up call came when I stepped on the scale at work after I had been attempting Atkins for a couple weeks and it was thirty pounds higher than I expected it to be. You see, for a long time, I didn't allow a scale in the house because I was so terrified of what it would tell me so I really had no idea what I weighed. This number made me cry and I dove into a diet plan of my own creation. I ate low-carb all week and allowed myself one "free day" a week, to eat whatever I wanted. Combined with exercising 2 - 3 times a week, which was all I could get my lazy ass to commit to at the time, this worked for a year and I lost fifty pounds from my highest weight. It was the closest I had been to my high school weight in years. It felt good. People noticed. It was easy to keep going.

The car accident happened. I was in a lot of pain and spiraled into a depression. I didn't work out because I hurt so badly and didn't get home from physical therapy until like 8PM most nights and was too tired to do anything else. I stuck to my eating plan, but did gain ten pounds back.

Somewhere over the last year, I completely lost control again. I began to stretch the rules of my self-devised plan and allow myself things I shouldn't have eaten, but were still able to rationalize. Free day, instead of a reasonable reward for being good, became a day to binge. I would eat until I felt sick. I would eat from the moment I got up until I went to bed. I would actually plan ahead how and when I was going to be able to eat everything I wanted. And I told myself "it's free day, so it's okay." Well, the twenty pounds I got out of it proves it was not okay.

So here I am. I had the aforementioned complete spastic crying fest on Tuesday during my lunch break, in front of my coworkers (we're all close and all struggle with weight) and even though I laid it all out for them -- the disgust and hatred I feel for myself for being "weak," the feeling of not having control, knowing damn well what I have to do to be healthy but not being able to find the strength to do it -- I still went out and got a steak and cheese sub and some cupcakes for dinner. (Of course, in true binge fashion, I ate the cupcakes in the car on the way home so Jay wouldn't see them.) Ugh.

I realize I have an eating disorder, though I don't know if it has one name. My connection to food is not healthy. I know this. What I don't know is how to fix it. Barb wants me to go to Weight Watchers and I am not opposed to that, but what she doesn't understand is that it's not lack of understanding my metabolism or what healthy eating is that keeps me fat. It's this crazy compulsion. It's like a smoker knowing damn well that smoking will kill them, make their teeth yellow, make them stink, cause cancer, etc. They know. I told her that I'd rather be fat and not feel like I have to binge and hide food than be skinny and still fighting this demon every day. It's the demon I want to be rid of. The body will follow.

So that's what's been on my mind this week. My wish for those of you who read this post is that you try to be openminded. I myself have looked at fat people and thought, "She really shouldn't be eating that," but I now I realize how hard it can be when your thought process isn't right. I know McDonald's isn't healthy. I know Hostess Cupcakes are fattening and provide no nutrition whatsoever. I know these things. Something in me overrides those facts though. Something in me needs the food, gets something out of it that I can't put my finger on. *sigh* All I want is to wake up in the morning and not be afraid of what I might be challenged with throughout the day. I want to wake up in the morning and not worry that I'm going to "fuck up" again.

Happy friggin Saturday.

Posted @ 8:45 AM

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