So it's Sunday, is it? Can't tell, I have the curtains closed. It's dark in here. I will need to shed light if I intend to sew anything. Which I probably wont do.
These last days of 4-midnight are kind of bittersweet for me. What a fucking sap. But last night I thought, this is my last Saturday walking out of here, weary and sticky from all the smoke and darkness after midnight. Maybe. Maybe this will all be a bad dream. Man, that would be cool.
I've worked these hours for 6 years, at the minimum, maybe closer to 7, and I am very much a creature of habit.
I've been reading a lot of weight related blogs, and find my own thoughts and actions eerily similar. Like anyone else who has lost weight, a little or a lot, I am terrified of gaining a pound, the mental vision of a cat clawing it's way down a wall, fighting every inch comes to mind. That's me and food. Yuck! I hate having this 'condition' and even at my age, when I should be past if not vanity then the yoke of peer pressure, I struggle to not find my only value as a human in what size pants I can squeeze my ass into. (12, a pair of juniors I should let rest while I pull on a 12 misses and celebrate getting my hands in and out of the pockets easily.) Not eating makes me good, eating makes me very bad, worthless, weak and fat.
The one thing I know works is avoiding eating out. If you just eat sensible things at home, you can even eat a little ice cream now and then. If you're getting fast food at a drive-thru or a restaurant where portion sizes are calculated to make people feel like they're getting value, it's just too damn much food. Too much fat, too much salt, enough for probably three meals. Ridiculous to submit to that. But I love eating out too much to ever quit totally. Exotic things, gourmet, trendy, oh, I'll be there holding a fork. Drooling.
Why does life have to be so hard?
I am not whining anymore. Big baby.