(no subject)
...and then it was the very next day and I found myself at a dog park hiking with a Snuffleupagus and J, circa Summer 2010: Pre-treatment 2. And, largely where I have remained since. And it's a secret ~no one knoooooooooooows uh-wha-oh!
I camp out here on weekends, and, lately during more weeknights. I have my own key and like being able to come here just to read or get work done and not be bothered to eat. Well until he comes home. Or until I go home. Or until I have to interact with someone. I think someone called me skinny over the phone the other day. That was weird. Just like with Brian, I find solace in being away from messages to eat...and it's not that Jon isn't an advocate for me getting healthy, putting on a substantial amount of weight, for cooking delicious food and going out for fantastic dinners and being able to wear a swimsuit with confidence and not have my pants falling down my ass...it's just nice to have my own little haven to destroy myself and isolate in again.
I recently reconnected with an amazingly infuriatingly perfect carbon copy of my would-be perfect neurotic successful self...with whom I went to college but was too envious/intimidated by/socially aloof to pursue as a buddy. Our two girldates have been heaven for those who love cruel irony and stark self-realization:
1) dinner the night before I started with my new therapist/the week she started with her new psychiatrist
2) crazy labyrinth grocery store fish-out-of-water adventuretimes + baking for corporate-mandated Food Day
Two peas in a tiny, nutty pod are we. And I worry I can't be her friend because she's killing herself and it's so awful to think of watching as it happens and not doing anything to fix it/reverse it in myself while it's staring me in the face. And here I sit: Friday night, alone, fervently wishing I could get all sorts of fucked up tonight just to push myself further from...anything...feeling guilty about a handful of popcorn I had earlier when I considered eating dinner but instead decided to throw away some leftovers from his fridge. Because the organic heart-healthy vegetarian black bean chili I'd had for lunch made me feel too full after not having eaten breakfast because I'd had a butternut squash nacho @Taste on Broadway that I *shouldnothavehad* after being spoon-fed pumpkin dumpcake and "Katy just try a bite!"-of red velvet poke cake @Food Day. ...which could account for the not eating breakfast (on account of the rice on the sushi the night before...which just ADDED to the tomato-lettuce leaf bloat that was compounded in the vicinity of its untouched half-sandy plate-mate.
I THINK TOMORROW'S WEIGHT CHECK SHOULD BE FINE. AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT FINE WILL MEAN UNTIL I MAKE IT THROUGH TOMORROW WITHOUT JUMPING OFF A BRIDGE.
Ooh, speaking of dramatic acts of desperate women, I told B Fick once and for all to go fick himself. It all happened over the course of a weekend...specifically July 20, the weekend of his sister's wedding that I declined his invite from. ...then renigged on that, then nigged again, and finally just wanted my sweater back and it ended in
"You are a slimeball. I hope someday you find peace with yourself. Or get hit by a bus. Either one."
...as it should have ten years ago. This after his wounded lonely little boy self told me he never really liked me, he just liked messing around with me. Who wouldn't!
Or something less awful. I don't know. I suck. He sucked. But he's gone now for good and that's gotta mean something.
And here it is almost 11:00 and I'm feeling neurotic because of a dude. Again. Bitches be nuts, that's for sure. How I would love to not feel like my brain was sliding out my ear for 30 seconds.
I camp out here on weekends, and, lately during more weeknights. I have my own key and like being able to come here just to read or get work done and not be bothered to eat. Well until he comes home. Or until I go home. Or until I have to interact with someone. I think someone called me skinny over the phone the other day. That was weird. Just like with Brian, I find solace in being away from messages to eat...and it's not that Jon isn't an advocate for me getting healthy, putting on a substantial amount of weight, for cooking delicious food and going out for fantastic dinners and being able to wear a swimsuit with confidence and not have my pants falling down my ass...it's just nice to have my own little haven to destroy myself and isolate in again.
I recently reconnected with an amazingly infuriatingly perfect carbon copy of my would-be perfect neurotic successful self...with whom I went to college but was too envious/intimidated by/socially aloof to pursue as a buddy. Our two girldates have been heaven for those who love cruel irony and stark self-realization:
1) dinner the night before I started with my new therapist/the week she started with her new psychiatrist
2) crazy labyrinth grocery store fish-out-of-water adventuretimes + baking for corporate-mandated Food Day
Two peas in a tiny, nutty pod are we. And I worry I can't be her friend because she's killing herself and it's so awful to think of watching as it happens and not doing anything to fix it/reverse it in myself while it's staring me in the face. And here I sit: Friday night, alone, fervently wishing I could get all sorts of fucked up tonight just to push myself further from...anything...feeling guilty about a handful of popcorn I had earlier when I considered eating dinner but instead decided to throw away some leftovers from his fridge. Because the organic heart-healthy vegetarian black bean chili I'd had for lunch made me feel too full after not having eaten breakfast because I'd had a butternut squash nacho @Taste on Broadway that I *shouldnothavehad* after being spoon-fed pumpkin dumpcake and "Katy just try a bite!"-of red velvet poke cake @Food Day. ...which could account for the not eating breakfast (on account of the rice on the sushi the night before...which just ADDED to the tomato-lettuce leaf bloat that was compounded in the vicinity of its untouched half-sandy plate-mate.
I THINK TOMORROW'S WEIGHT CHECK SHOULD BE FINE. AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT FINE WILL MEAN UNTIL I MAKE IT THROUGH TOMORROW WITHOUT JUMPING OFF A BRIDGE.
Ooh, speaking of dramatic acts of desperate women, I told B Fick once and for all to go fick himself. It all happened over the course of a weekend...specifically July 20, the weekend of his sister's wedding that I declined his invite from. ...then renigged on that, then nigged again, and finally just wanted my sweater back and it ended in
"You are a slimeball. I hope someday you find peace with yourself. Or get hit by a bus. Either one."
...as it should have ten years ago. This after his wounded lonely little boy self told me he never really liked me, he just liked messing around with me. Who wouldn't!
Or something less awful. I don't know. I suck. He sucked. But he's gone now for good and that's gotta mean something.
And here it is almost 11:00 and I'm feeling neurotic because of a dude. Again. Bitches be nuts, that's for sure. How I would love to not feel like my brain was sliding out my ear for 30 seconds.