I’m doing well with this no-coffee, or restricted coffee thing. I’m drinking more than a gallon of water a day, and maybe 4 cups of coffee at the very top of the bad-day-spectrum. Now, let’s hope my metabolism takes a clue from this, and the added activity/stretching/walking, and turns on. Because I’m consuming about 800 calories per day, I have been for about 2 months. No significant change in my size. My belly has shrunk a bit, and I can fit into my 36″ waist jeans, but I’m wearing a pair of 38s right now because they don’t pinch me.
In fact, today I am just dressed for comfort. Big, boho tunic (that clashes with my hair), and torn up jeans that have been sewn and patched back together. My bra should be here by the end of the week. For now, I am wearing my newest bra, it’s the wrong size, but it fits me better than any of the others. I can’t wait for the new one to get here.
I talked Chewbacca into giving Boo a bath yesterday. Well, her head. After he relaxed, he gave her a thorough licking. He got happier and more into it the more she showed she liked it. And she was rubbing her head all over his face and chest, it was so amazing. If they hadn’t both been on my lap at the time, I would have caught it on camera, but you never can catch that sort of stuff, can you? That is one thing I miss about the cams being up, I miss a lot of candid cat moments now that I got to see back then.
It’s been kind of interesting to see who has and who hasn’t responded to my news on FB that I was getting published. I’m not reading too much into it, it’s just that it has brought some silent people out of the woodwork, and I really like that. It kind of makes up for the reception the news received at home. Kelli was very excited, though she probably wanted to strangle me for a moment for having a happy thing happen to me. We’re competing with the world on misery, here. Doc just said, “Oh, good.” Blah.
He’s dead to the world. He actually told me that he is having trouble feeling things. Except anger, apparently, he’s feeling that pretty well. He just seems to have no recollection of it after he flips on me. This is making things strained between us. Words are being said. Feelings are being hurt. It’s not good. This grief thing evades my comprehension.
He went to the store to get me food last night. And got me a day’s worth. Unless I eat four yogurts I hate tomorrow for my meds. That’s the other thing, he bought a bunch of yogurt I don’t like, and said it was for me. He said he wants me to eat something different. So he either buys me food I won’t eat, or no food. And then I whine for fast food, which, at this point, I can only eat Taco Bell because they are the only fast food place that has soft food. Why are people always fucking with my food? All my life. My parents fucked with my food constantly.They force fed me stuff I hated, which resulted in my refusal as an adult to eat anything I don’t like, which is anything good for me. They made me fast for days with them as a child. There was constant unrelenting pressure not to be a “fat pig” like my aunt had become. Now Doc is fucking with my food. Why? Why can’t I just eat? And people wonder why I have an eating disorder? Really?
The wicked wind from yesterday stopped. It blew the temperature down twenty degrees, though. I will be sitting in the sun, today. Speaking of sun, I noticed yesterday, during my weekly look in the mirror, that I have a vague tan line on my chest and arms. A closer inspection shows that my face has received the right amount of color for me to look like I have a pulse from a distance, and not to glow in the dark. It does make my scars stand out, but it is what it is.
Oh, and speaking of fat pigs, Trump may not be the fattest, but he is the piggiest. How can he even imagine that anyone finds him physically attractive? And poor Melania has to sleep with that beast. Think about it, if he let that happen to his face, which was no prize when it was silky smooth, what has he let become of the rest of his body? And, no I don’t believe his doctor that Trump is in peak physical condition. Not even a really expensive suit can hide what he is packing on his skeleton. For someone who is so obsessed with looks, you would think he would take better care of himself. Can he be a true narcissist if he allows himself to fall into such disrepair? It seems to go counter. I would think that if you were completely obsessed with yourself and nothing else, you would want to keep yourself up. If you’re too lazy or arrogant to work out, then by surgical means. I mean, there is no excuse for him to physically look like he just cleaned up for a funeral from the teamster’s bar. That is the one thing that I really don’t get. If your insides are going to be on display and be so ugly, wouldn’t you want your outside to at least look good? It’s not enough anymore to be a fat slob in a pricey suit with a trophy wife. You have to take care of yourself, because that broad is going to leave your ass at some point and you are going to have to find another. Or, at least take some pride in yourself.
That was supposed to be one line. See why I can’t Twitter? I’ve tried, no one gets me. At least here, no one gets me because everything is TL; DR.
17 minutes until I get Doc up with fresh brewed coffee and an energy drink and saccharine tone. And if he snaps at me, I’m going to punch him in the head where it lay on the pillow. How’s that for a reasonable reaction? Oh, and I will be sure and take my meds first.