Well, that went okay.

I didn't clarify in my previous post that my dad only tends to analyze my food and bug me about my weight if he notices I'm not eating "normally." Other than that he'll make an occasional comment but has learned to basically shut the hell up because I refuse to talk about it. But if he smells dieting ... it's on.

Anyway, it wasn't bad. For dinner he made a big bison burger patty with gouda cheese and we shared it. He also made corn on the cob, and had some leftover carrots and potatoes he'd cooked with a pot roast, and some cheese-filled garlic breadsticks. Here's what's interesting about my dad: he's concerned about my weight, and yet he piles food on me. I said I wanted one potato; he put two on my plate. I said I didn't want any carrots (I don't like them cooked), he tried really hard to get me to eat some. Then he decided to make the corn too. Then he offered me the breadsticks, and I said I had plenty. But he plopped on one my plate anyway! And keep in mind we each had a half a pound of freaking buffalo too! I scarfed the buffalo burger - was delicious - ate the corn, and gave the rest to the dog.

Breakfast wasn't an issue, I'm never hungry when I wake up. I had a glass of milk, and we headed out. We had lunch at a restaurant, and chicken and salad didn't raise any eyebrows. For dinner he made steak and baked potatoes, and I ate some of the small potato. I was tempted by the white cheddar Cheez-Its. And his bowl of mini candy bars. And the ice cream. But I didn't have any of it.

Of course, on my way home I got all weepy and upset and nearly engaged in some emotional eating. The only thing that stopped me from making a pit stop at Perkins for my favorite kind of pie was that I'd been crying for an hour and knew I looked like hell. Oh, I know eating won't solve anything. I know it won't create a magical answer to my text messages and make my unrequited love .... requited. I still want to order up some subs or go for tacos or something, because I'm sad and nothing is making me feel better. Of course, I know that in the end food won't either. I'm just sad and feeling hopeless. I hate that I feel like this because of a man. I keep waiting for it to pass, to not feel like my life will never be complete again without him. It's pissing me off.

Anyway, it's two in the morning and I haven't gone crazy on carbs yet. I'm truthfully not sure how I've managed the last few weeks. I don't really have any concrete reason for wanting to lose weight -- other than so some more of my clothes fit. I feel like I'm largely stumbling along in a state of numbness when it comes to my eating, and I sort of wonder what will happen when that wears off. If that makes any sense.