For some reason, my electric blue nail polish makes me happy.
It almost balances out the unhappiness issues that I am currently dealing with related to 1. weight and 2. outright rebellion of body to behave in a non pain causing manner.
It's so good. AND INCREDIBLY METALLIC.
I wish I was still 13 and could wear this all the time.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
I may be crazy
My brain is a food addict.
I was driving home from work and, as usual, my brain was like "You should just have ice cream for dinner. Get a pint, a spoon and some sweatpants and go to." (Seriously, this is a conversation that my brain and I have on a daily basis.) Its other idea, when I vetoed that, was to buy an entire packet of Vienna Fingers and dip them in milk and gorge myself on them. These are usual antics, and I have an internal dialogue with myself - we go through some options, I suggest a bowl of tuna fish and a diet coke, it counter offers with nachos and then maybe just some ice cream. I remind it gently of the drawer full of expensive jeans that don't fit; it points out that I'm probably getting my period so obviously I have free reign to order pizza.
This is a conversation we have EVERY DAY.
Finally, we compromise on toast with peanut butter and chocolate milk (sidebar - once I would have considered this a light meal. That was before I understood how calories worked or what they were). The peanut butter will be chunky style, and I don't have to go to the store, since the boyfriend bought some last night. I run this by the brain and it seems to meet with grudging approval. I calmly get home, politely ask the neighbor teens to move their car so it's not taking up three car parking spaces in front of our house, put on my lightening bolt sweatshirt, and.... no new peanut butter. There is the OLD peanut butter, which probably has enough to eat in it, but there is not a comforting surplus of dark blue Skippy.
This immediately triggers red flashing lights in my brain. All I can think is that I may not have the exact peanut butter experience I have anticipated. There may be slightly less. I may have to scrape the sides. What if I'm hungry and need another toasted peanut butter sandwich?
I take a deep breath, and call the boyfriend. Please understand that at 7:15pm my boyfriend has worked in the office then immediately made a 3 hour drive to oversee an installation that will prevent him from arriving home before 11:00pm. Obviously, I should be interrupting him to deal with my peanut butter related psychosis.
His explanation is brief - he forgot to tell me last night, but the store was out of crunchy peanut butter, and he didn't want to get the wrong kind, so he waited, since he knew we had peanut butter in the house. A very small part of my brain wants to shake him and scream "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!? THIS TRAGEDY COULD HAVE BEEN AVERTED!" Luckily, most of me knows that that bit of the brain is absolutely whack, so I tell him I love him and make my toast.
Crisis did not happen. I had more than enough peanut butter. I think I need to work on my emotional attachment to food.
I was driving home from work and, as usual, my brain was like "You should just have ice cream for dinner. Get a pint, a spoon and some sweatpants and go to." (Seriously, this is a conversation that my brain and I have on a daily basis.) Its other idea, when I vetoed that, was to buy an entire packet of Vienna Fingers and dip them in milk and gorge myself on them. These are usual antics, and I have an internal dialogue with myself - we go through some options, I suggest a bowl of tuna fish and a diet coke, it counter offers with nachos and then maybe just some ice cream. I remind it gently of the drawer full of expensive jeans that don't fit; it points out that I'm probably getting my period so obviously I have free reign to order pizza.
This is a conversation we have EVERY DAY.
Finally, we compromise on toast with peanut butter and chocolate milk (sidebar - once I would have considered this a light meal. That was before I understood how calories worked or what they were). The peanut butter will be chunky style, and I don't have to go to the store, since the boyfriend bought some last night. I run this by the brain and it seems to meet with grudging approval. I calmly get home, politely ask the neighbor teens to move their car so it's not taking up three car parking spaces in front of our house, put on my lightening bolt sweatshirt, and.... no new peanut butter. There is the OLD peanut butter, which probably has enough to eat in it, but there is not a comforting surplus of dark blue Skippy.
This immediately triggers red flashing lights in my brain. All I can think is that I may not have the exact peanut butter experience I have anticipated. There may be slightly less. I may have to scrape the sides. What if I'm hungry and need another toasted peanut butter sandwich?
I take a deep breath, and call the boyfriend. Please understand that at 7:15pm my boyfriend has worked in the office then immediately made a 3 hour drive to oversee an installation that will prevent him from arriving home before 11:00pm. Obviously, I should be interrupting him to deal with my peanut butter related psychosis.
His explanation is brief - he forgot to tell me last night, but the store was out of crunchy peanut butter, and he didn't want to get the wrong kind, so he waited, since he knew we had peanut butter in the house. A very small part of my brain wants to shake him and scream "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!? THIS TRAGEDY COULD HAVE BEEN AVERTED!" Luckily, most of me knows that that bit of the brain is absolutely whack, so I tell him I love him and make my toast.
Crisis did not happen. I had more than enough peanut butter. I think I need to work on my emotional attachment to food.
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