On the Stuffing of Muzzles
The last few months have been, shall we say, a wee bit stressful.
I can tell they've been taking their toll on me, because ho damn, I am stress-eating like a mofo. In fact, it's so blatant that I know what I'm doing while I'm doing it and yet still I can't bring myself to stop.
This, of course, leads to increased epic fatassery, which leads to more stress, yadda yadda, cycle continues, etc.
Hell, having a kidney stone and other stuff like that is already making me feel like my body is broken down, like I'm my very own personal 1979 Pinto that can only be spruced up so much to mask the fact that it's always going to be a bit of a shitbox. I've been really good at losing weight before, and I'm sure I can be good at it again, but I need to weight for the planetary alignment of stress-inducing suckfest to pass before I do that.
(I'll skip the part of the conversation where people tell me I should work out and get exercise, and I respond by saying that I have a two-hour daily commute and really have absolutely zero time in which I could do so without driving myself even further up the wall.)
I just need to get through the end of March, I think, before life turns back into normal. I'll be all moved in, my housemates will be all moved in, things will be unpacked and I'll start being able to live a normal lifestyle again, one where I'll actually be able to cook instead of stuffing my face with Jack in the Box milkshakes whenever I'm sad.
...fuck, see, now I want a milkshake.
I can tell they've been taking their toll on me, because ho damn, I am stress-eating like a mofo. In fact, it's so blatant that I know what I'm doing while I'm doing it and yet still I can't bring myself to stop.
This, of course, leads to increased epic fatassery, which leads to more stress, yadda yadda, cycle continues, etc.
Hell, having a kidney stone and other stuff like that is already making me feel like my body is broken down, like I'm my very own personal 1979 Pinto that can only be spruced up so much to mask the fact that it's always going to be a bit of a shitbox. I've been really good at losing weight before, and I'm sure I can be good at it again, but I need to weight for the planetary alignment of stress-inducing suckfest to pass before I do that.
(I'll skip the part of the conversation where people tell me I should work out and get exercise, and I respond by saying that I have a two-hour daily commute and really have absolutely zero time in which I could do so without driving myself even further up the wall.)
I just need to get through the end of March, I think, before life turns back into normal. I'll be all moved in, my housemates will be all moved in, things will be unpacked and I'll start being able to live a normal lifestyle again, one where I'll actually be able to cook instead of stuffing my face with Jack in the Box milkshakes whenever I'm sad.
...fuck, see, now I want a milkshake.