(no subject)
Ugh, I am getting fat. For me. And I'm sure part of it is because I took one of my mom's steroid pills for my back at the beginning of the week (that shit makes it impossible to not get fat), and drank like eight grande caramel macchiatos in like the past three weeks, and had to stop regularly walking my dog since like, early October because she's getting radiation and it's too cold for her to be out with a compromised immune system. Plus I'm probably getting my period soon, SO.
But none of that changes the fact that I had to like, squeeze my hips into jeans I didn't even know would be little (because they were new, from last year, waiting to be hemmed- which is super rare for me because I am tall- but still new) until I put them on and like, cringed. My whole family thinks I'm a whole size smaller than I actually am, and always buys me that size smaller, which, while a good motivator, gives me weight issues every time I actually gain some. So now I am depressed. Which is stupid, since I refuse to diet (ever), and haven't exercised in forever, and even if I could think up a way/place/method of exercising right now, I wouldn't be able to because of my back. BUT I STILL FEEL FLABBY AND SAD. I was actually feeling fat even when I was excercising, because when I first started I gained like, fifteen to eighteen pounds of muscle mass (or ten, but I hadn't weighed myself since like, Sophomore year of college, so while I'm pretty sure I put on five pounds of fat since then, I'm going to base it off that weight) and by the time I started losing weight and fitting into my smallest small jeans, I put off weighing myself. Weighing yourself is just bad news- 'cause like, I fit in everything, I looked gorgeous, and I knew I'd lost weight, but I was worried that if the number was still high due to muscle mass I'd give myself a complex. And now it's off the books, 'cause I definitely will. And then I'll be back to worrying about diets.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against diets or people who diet or anything to do with diets. I think they are good and healthy and if they work for you they are awesome. But I'm kind of positive I will have diabetes and high cholesterol and all that shit when I am old, because it runs in my family, so I'm all about indulgence now, and I have a pretty fast metabolism because my dad's side of the family is full of ridiculously slim, willowy people and my mom's side is full of- well, curvier but still decidedly slender people, who even when they are fat are called skinny/normal, so genetically I'm blessed. Meaning if I'm gaining weight, it's because I'm not spending enough time outside doing healthy things like walking, and a diet in lieu of exercise is never a good idea. Plus having muscle makes me feel healthier than barring myself from certain foods.
I really miss walking my dog. It always made me feel better and the fresh air helps me think and I wasn't exhausted after work I'd probably do it despite the radiation, but man....CONUNDRUM. Ugh, if I go to the city on Saturday, which I may do, I am going to force my boyfriend to walk from Times Square to fucking SoHo.
One of these days, I'm going to post something that isn't whiney/bitchy. PROMISE.
EDIT: Also the stupid book I am reading just listed 1638 as 8:38 pm. WHY SO STUPID AND ANNOYING, BOOK?
But none of that changes the fact that I had to like, squeeze my hips into jeans I didn't even know would be little (because they were new, from last year, waiting to be hemmed- which is super rare for me because I am tall- but still new) until I put them on and like, cringed. My whole family thinks I'm a whole size smaller than I actually am, and always buys me that size smaller, which, while a good motivator, gives me weight issues every time I actually gain some. So now I am depressed. Which is stupid, since I refuse to diet (ever), and haven't exercised in forever, and even if I could think up a way/place/method of exercising right now, I wouldn't be able to because of my back. BUT I STILL FEEL FLABBY AND SAD. I was actually feeling fat even when I was excercising, because when I first started I gained like, fifteen to eighteen pounds of muscle mass (or ten, but I hadn't weighed myself since like, Sophomore year of college, so while I'm pretty sure I put on five pounds of fat since then, I'm going to base it off that weight) and by the time I started losing weight and fitting into my smallest small jeans, I put off weighing myself. Weighing yourself is just bad news- 'cause like, I fit in everything, I looked gorgeous, and I knew I'd lost weight, but I was worried that if the number was still high due to muscle mass I'd give myself a complex. And now it's off the books, 'cause I definitely will. And then I'll be back to worrying about diets.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against diets or people who diet or anything to do with diets. I think they are good and healthy and if they work for you they are awesome. But I'm kind of positive I will have diabetes and high cholesterol and all that shit when I am old, because it runs in my family, so I'm all about indulgence now, and I have a pretty fast metabolism because my dad's side of the family is full of ridiculously slim, willowy people and my mom's side is full of- well, curvier but still decidedly slender people, who even when they are fat are called skinny/normal, so genetically I'm blessed. Meaning if I'm gaining weight, it's because I'm not spending enough time outside doing healthy things like walking, and a diet in lieu of exercise is never a good idea. Plus having muscle makes me feel healthier than barring myself from certain foods.
I really miss walking my dog. It always made me feel better and the fresh air helps me think and I wasn't exhausted after work I'd probably do it despite the radiation, but man....CONUNDRUM. Ugh, if I go to the city on Saturday, which I may do, I am going to force my boyfriend to walk from Times Square to fucking SoHo.
One of these days, I'm going to post something that isn't whiney/bitchy. PROMISE.
EDIT: Also the stupid book I am reading just listed 1638 as 8:38 pm. WHY SO STUPID AND ANNOYING, BOOK?