it’s been really trying this week. i went from having two glorious semi-lazypants days of paid time off to coming home, defeated, back arched in, wanting to cry as i took the dog out for a walk. when i come home like that, i tend to make food, because i am a stress eater. i know my weight fluctuations are a vicious fucking circle, and today was certainly no exception. i was doing pretty well too - losing the 7 or so pounds i gained from beer bingeing the last two months.
i made two dinners tonight - i tend to overcook so i have leftovers for lunch the next day, but even i knew it was a lot of food. i don’t even know how much of it i ate but i remember collapsing onto the couch in a haze. i also washed up most of the dishes so i wouldn’t be faced with the guilt of “dear, you used all these dishes to make your dinner?” shame, shame, shame.
i think i’m just coming to realize that i’m almost 30 (holy fucking hell i’m almost 30) and i really don’t like where my life is. most of my free time has been spent organizing a wedding and balancing out my finances (which are always in a constant state of pre-explosion) - it’s hardly fun. i don’t go out to drink anymore because i won’t gain more weight. i don’t go out to eat anymore because it’s such a hassle eating out with teeth retainers. i don’t see anyone really because i feel like i’ve lost the ability to be social, or have a personality. maybe being in an office where no one speaks to you (or notices you’re there) at any point of the day will do that to you.
i prefer to be at home, sleeping. shame, shame.