Feed.
You know those days when you are shockingly disgusted with your physical self?
And you think....How did this happen? How did I let this happen? And you wonder how the lady with the ten pumps of mocha in her latte cannot realize what she is doing to herself--Or. How can she just not care? Then, if I am this disgusted with myself, how disgusted can she be with herself? Is there a point when there is comfort in being grossly overweight? The pound of no return....What's another pound when you've got a few hundred? Big is beautiful. More to love. There's always the chubby chasers.
Borders are worse, I think. Can't fit into the cheap jeans at Forever 21, can't fit into the smallest fit at Torrid. Angles, colors, lighting, belts, high waists, high heels, hair cuts: Illusions and Denials. I look good--Don't bend, don't sit, don't let the wind tighten the fabric around your hips--work it girl, work it without moving it girl!
Well, today is one of those days. Days are turning into weeks, and something must be done. Other than, at least I don't look like her.