It’s happened again, I have come to the inevitable conclusion that I want to be rail thin, more than I want my coffee. I will be thin by my 47th birthday in 88 days. To celebrate it, I will take the Tardis-blue tank top I have, that I hate because it is not black (it came in a four pack with three black ones), and I will paint “Bad Wolf” on it and wear it proudly as my first piece of fandom-wear. AND I will wear it with my biker boots and the skinny jeans I will also reward myself with when I’m three inches less round.
It’s the medication, don’t be fooled, Cyd. I’ve been off Seroquel for 2 months, and on Latuda steadily (because of my own failings), for almost three weeks. I feel fanfuckingtastic. I am sleeping well, getting things done, communicating openly with another human being for the first time in my life, and I’m pretty zen with it.
About the weight loss though, since quitting the fat-maker, Seroquel, I have lost 3 inches overall. I have gone from a 38″ waist, which I wear on my hips (I only wear boy-jeans, not those high waisted girl-jeans), to a 35″ waist jean, which I also wear on my hips. I have gotten zen with the fact that my boobs are now a D-cup, and will always remain so. I would rather a B-cup, and if I ever get rich, I will have a lift and reduction done, but I’m never going to get rich, so I’ll try to stop stuffing the things into a C-cup. But the strap size goes up and down with my weight loss and gains, so it’s at a 38″ right now, too. Should be 34″.
So, I have this new resolve that has been building up, and we’ll see where it takes me.
Today we are gardening, and I hope to get at least four layers of a paper platter I’m making done. If Doc goes out while I’m not working on other things, I will clean the kitchen and cook off some bacon and shred cheese for the week. Which reminds me, I have Havarti in there and some crusty wheat rolls. Sounds like breakfast, with a scrambled egg the side. That sounds good, and it sounds like at least 350 calories.
You may be wondering, if I struggle to get 350 calories of solid food in me a day to take my meds with (Latuda won’t metabolize without it), how it is that I am not rail thin already. It’s the coffee. I put a LOT of sugar in my coffee and a lot of milk. 2% milk, but milk, just the same. When my Nana heard how much coffee and how much sugar I consumed, she said, amazed, “But you’re not fat!” That’s because I don’t eat, Nana. I only love food that is bad for me, so I will only eat it in moderation, so I just don’t eat. That’s why I want the nutrient shakes. Without the constant sugar of the coffee, I’m going to need something to help me regulate my blood sugar. I’ve always been “borderline” hypoglycemic, and never really done anything about it but make sure I don’t faint in public. I will, however, throw up in public. I know I’m not drunk, I don’t care what anyone else thinks.
Did I mention yet that I am sitting on the patio with my keyboard in my lap typing this? Well, I am. I took the dog for a 40 minute walk around the neighborhood. I wanted to go out and see the construction, and I will have awesome pictures of that to display later, then I just let Chewbacca lead. He stays within the walls of the neighborhood, he was actually rather distressed when I started leading him out to see the construction outside the walls. So I just listened to my music, stopped to let him pee every 37 seconds and cleaned up his poop. And walked. And he does not go at a leisurely pace. That little dog hustles. And when he puts all four legs and his back into it, he can pull on the leash pretty hard. That’s why he wears a harness on walks, he can stretch out his collar by pulling and get loose.
It felt so good to be out in the sun, Dear Diary. And I wore my new biker boots. And I didn’t wear my bag as a hip-pack. Doc informed me during an “honesty session” that it embarrassed him. So I extended the strap it conveniently came with so I can put it across my chest, over my shoulder. Whatever. When I’m skinny, I’m going back to wearing it as a hip pack, because then I can get away with it. No one cares what weird thing you have on when you are rail thin. That is a fact in America. Especially in a tourist city like this one. A weird looking heavy/healthy chick will be watched, judged, scrutinized if her clothes or hair deviate from the norm. A thin chick? No one cares, they are too busy chiding themselves for that second mocha latte or skipping the gym for a month and not being able to fit into my pants. That’s the women. I don’t care what the men think. There is no pleasing them or figuring out what will please them. It’s easier to ignore the men and shut down the women. At least in the tourist areas. In local areas, I will smile. You never see skinny chicks smile, it’s eerie.
I took a four hour nap, and I woke up and had a cup of coffee and put it away, even though there was fresh coffee made for me by Doc. I did pour a glass full of ice with soda. Doc got it for his vodka (man after my own heart), and allowed me two glasses. I had half of one last night that he finished, and I will probably finish this one. But I’m drinking more water than soda. Of course, when I ate, which was basically a cheese, basil and garlic fest with a baguette thrown in for good measure. And marinara sauce, of course. Something to dip in is fun. We have quite an assorted collection of ramekins and small dipping bowls. They are so fun to use. I’m not a dipper by nature, but every so often, I will find something. So, it continues to be a good day. I took some Sudafed (I know, I’m a pill junkie), and my head is clear of the allergy snot. So I’m feeling pretty good.
Time to go process pictures, before I lose the natural light behind me facing the screens.
Doc is going out to pick up my medication. I haven’t had it today, and I feel it. A level builds up in my body, but I get an extra boost every morning from them.