Well, I guess it was bound to happen.

I woke up pissed the fuck off at the world, and that rapidly descended down into tearful misery. I did a bunch of errands, and then on my way home had a "fuck it all" moment and decided that god dammit, I wanted a freaking burrito. I wanted to sit in air conditioning, eat, drink Diet Coke, and read, and fuck everything else. So I went to Qdoba and I enjoyed the hell out of a burrito and an order of chips and queso. And I did enjoy them ... while I was chewing.

As soon as I stood up though, I realized I felt like I had a bowling ball in my belly. I had a crampy sort of feeling under the right side of my ribcage. A few hours later, I felt gassy and was spending a lot of time in the bathroom. That's what happens when you slam down 200g of carbohydrates after a monthish of behaving (or at least behaving better than that, for fuck's sake). I wasn't that sick, but it wasn't pleasant, and it wasn't worth it.

It was bad timing, too, because an hour or so after that I headed 100 miles south to stay at my aunt's house for a week with my cousin. This is bad because they chow carbs like nobody's business. It's worse than my dad's. There are things I can eat -- already here, plus what I brought -- but there's also a surplus of things I shouldn't eat.

This is where being really picky comes in handy, though! See, of all the junk in the house ... it seems I lucked into not liking most of it. I normally love macaroni and cheese, but they have this weird organic brand that tastes vaguely like cardboard. I love ice cream as much as the next fatty, but not the flavors they have. I didn't spot any cookies or cakes. The corn Chex cereal won't be a problem -- rice checks might have been, but I don't much like corn Chex. The tortillas they have are corn, another thing I'm not big on. They do have one bag of chips that look delicious (tuscan herb and parmesan) and two bags of pretzel bites. One is sour cream and onion flavored, so blech. The other is four cheese. I like Ramen noodles, but I don't wicked crave them. Nor any of the generic flavored rices or pasta packages. I'm sort of amazed.

It's always bugged me how my aunt and cousins eat. When my younger cousin was fourteen, she was on a swimming team so was practicing six days a week in addition to horseback riding, archery lessons, gym class, and being a growing adolescent. One day I watched her eat dry Cheerios and a banana for breakfast. For lunch she packed a fruit roll-up, some chips, and a thing of Ramen noodles. Dinner that night was spaghetti noodles with tomato sauce. The next day, she had the same breakfast. Lunch was a treacle sandwich (syrup on bread for anyone who doesn't know), some squishy fruit snack things, an apple, and some cheese-flavored crackers. Dinner was leftover spaghetti.

I don't remember what she ate the third day, but she came home complaining that her leg muscles were tired and hurting. I suggested maybe she needed some protein to maintain her muscles, and maybe some vitamins and minerals, since she'd had 99.9% empty carbs for at least three days. She looked at me and shrugged ... and had Ramen noodles for dinner. Ahrg.

Her sister wasn't much better then, and their mother .... well, let's just say she's got a shelf full of diet books, another full of workout videos, a bunch of unused gym equipment, and several bottles of "homeopathic" HGC "hormone" diet supplements. And eats just like her kids, all the time. With the addition of a respectable amount of alcohol.

Anyway, I was expecting there to be a lot more tempting awful crap, but I might just make it out of here in decent shape. I mean, I know that no matter what food surrounds me it's my choice what I eat. But it's definitely a lot easier to not eat Cheetos if they're nowhere near. Avoidance is definitely my key strategy!

Woke up empty.

I'm curiously numb today. Not sad about the lack of response to a pathetic text sent in the middle of the night. Not happy about ... whatever. Not angry about anything. I am full of nothing. And a pizza made on a low carb tortilla, and a bunch of water. And some cantaloupe.

Hey look, numb has been replaced by miserable. I think I spoke too soon yesterday about not binging because I knew it wouldn't help, because right now the idea of hopping in the car and scooting through McDonald's for chicken nuggets, french fries, and a chocolate-dipped cone sounds like the best thing ever. What will it solve? Nothing. Will it make me feel better? No. Why do it? I don't know exactly. It just sounds like a really good idea right now. I've been trying to distract myself from feeling rotten with tv, books, games, Facebook, texting friends (tried to get someone to go out with me but nobody wanted to), and just general stuff but it isn't happening.

I keep feeling my fat, reminding myself that it's more squishy than it used to be, and that there's a little bit of a hollow in front of my hips, which is the first place I ever show any weight loss. Also, the right straps on my biggest bras keep slipping down, which means I've lost a little weight around my ribcage too. I don't really feel anything about this any of it, though. I don't get any satisfaction or excitement from it. No sense of pride or anything. It makes it hard to stay motivated, or even not actively unmotivated, which is probably a more accurate description of how I am anyway.

I cooked dinner at home; in fact I haven't left my house today. It wasn't as relaxing as it sounds though because, y'know, I'm crazy.

Once again, being social is good.

(Weight wise, the news is that I ate well today. Other than that it's a bunch of blathering.)

I managed to sleep a little bit today, and woke up starving. I was in the process of making myself something to eat when somebody knocked on my door and my dog went absolutely nuts. It was a college kid doing one of those fundraiser things, and I thought that once I told him I was unemployed and couldn't help, that would be the end of the conversation. Instead, I ended up talking to him for almost an hour. It was quite a weird conversation; I think he was hitting on me, truthfully. He kept asking me questions, and telling me personal stuff, and complimenting me. I now know that this stranger used to have a Prince Albert piercing, has 21 tattoos, likes big women and was in fact in an amateur porno with a big woman, his sister works for a big adult film company, he takes certain drugs for "enhancement" in sexual situations, and he thinks all women should have at least three vibrators.

Most people would probably be uncomfortable with a conversation like that with a stranger, I think. I just laughed and shot back jokes about threesomes and strippers. But it was still a very odd encounter. He gave me his phone number in case I ever wanted help with "chores." He also said he'd been wanting to stop by and find out who had the car with the great racing stripes (they're not great, they're freaking stupid). It doesn't happen to me often, but I definitely got the feeling he was hitting on me. I might have enjoyed it more if he hadn't said "wasn't there a guy living here too?"
I said my mom lived here before and she was married.
"No, since then. A big guy?" and he made that shoulder gesture that means muscular instead of fat.
My heart sank and I tried to say casually, "I had a boyfriend for a while."
"Kicked him to the curb, huh?" he grinned at me.
"No. The opposite." I tried to say it in a tone of voice that would shut him up.
It didn't work. "Oh. Why?"
I had to swallow hard before I could say, not very loudly, "I don't know."
"Well, he's dumb! You're cute."
I just laughed and said thanks. Once he left, though, I felt really sad. Then I started to get paranoid and wonder if he was just pumping me for information because he's going to rob and rape me or something. But he looked like he was about to shit his pants when my dog was barking at him, so I'm not too worried.

I finished making my dinner and ate, trying to decide if I wanted to meet a friend for our usual Saturday night bingo or not. I didn't feel like facing the world but she guilted me in to it, so I showered and left. And I cried all the way in to town, and then was so early I didn't want to go in by myself so I sat in a park by a willow tree kind of in the dark and sniffled to myself. I hate how much I miss him. I hate that I miss him and not just someone. And I'm shocked that it's not triggering binge after binge after binge, honestly. I guess it's because in this case, I know that eating won't make me feel better. Sometimes it does. In this case, though, it wouldn't accomplish anything.

Not for me!

Anyway, I met my friend, and I consumed all my carbs for the day in one meal but overall behaved myself. I didn't even eat the pile of chocolate deliciousness she kept trying to push on me and ordering me to eat because she was full. No fucking idea how I managed that. By the time I headed home, I was feeling .... not happy, but at least not miserable. I felt slightly hopeful. It lasted a couple of hours before I started getting mopey and sniffly again. It's like I need constant stimulation, constant distraction, or else I start obsessing and missing him and moping.

I'm not naturally a weepy person. Depressed, yes, which is why I've been on Prozac for years, but that's just a biochemical imbalance (my personal theory is that my mother smoked marijuana while she was pregnant with me). That aside, I'm usually loud and cheerful and the life/annoyance of a party. Or at least a small group. I feel like my lovesickness is almost totally subsuming my personality. If this stuff doesn't start to pass soon ... fuck, I don't know what I'll do. I can't afford professional help. I guess all I can do is keep trying to process it. I should probably delete his number from my phone but I can't yet. I did finally get rid of the last of the pictures. I still have them on my computer, but I haven't looked at them in a week. I guess that's something.

I'm worried about what will happy in terms of my eating if I do start feeling normal again, though. It's weirdly easier now that it is when I feel happy. When I'm happy I'm more likely to toss everything to the wind because it doesn't seem important when I'm already happy. Of course, I'm not doing this because of being unhappy, because weight loss won't do anything for that either.

They still don't fit!

But I didn't really expect them to either. My size 22 jeans, that is. Although if I lay down I can at least get them over my flab now. And the 24s are a little loose now.

It's 1:25 in the morning now and I haven't eaten anything today. Haven't been hungry, and even when I did feel a flicker of it ... I just couldn't care. It's been a bad day in terms of my emotions. Sometimes when I feel like this, I'll binge because why the hell not eat what I want, I'm already miserable. But today I'm so blah that I can't be bothered. I'd have to go to the store or a drive-through for unhealthy food. Or order pizza. I can't be bothered to do either. I finally ate at 3:30, because my brain was starting to prod me to go out and get junk food even though my stomach was fine. Now I'm goddamn ravenous. I do feel slightly better though.

I couldn't sleep last night, or rather this morning, just like usual. Obsessive thoughts kept me awake for an hour or better; then I woke up every hour or so. Eventually I got up and got ready to go to my interview, which I can only hope went well because it would be the perfect job for me. I was supposedly one of only five people they were interviewing .... but I'm trying not to get my hopes up. Then I came home and watched some Olympics, read some, and then eventually fell asleep. Taking a nap from 7-midnight guaranteed I'll be up way past dawn today, but at least I got some sleep finally.

Assumptions.

I think everybody sees themselves in a certain way, and that way does not always match up to reality. I know a lot of the time I'll be bouncing around on errands, grinning and feeling like I'm exuding joy*, and then I'll catch a glimpse of myself in a window and realize what I'm actually radiating is "batshit insane."
*Before I got all mopey and depressed of course.

Similarly, I know my body is perfectly capable of some things, and I forget that other people look at me and think ... not. For example, people assume because I'm fat I'm not able to play sports. I had that proved to me last night when I casually commented, "I hope I get this other job so I'll have time and money to join a volleyball team."
My dad's head swiveled around and he stared at me. "What?"
"I wanted to join the rec center volleyball team before I moved, but I was always working evenings so I couldn't."
He continued to look at me, eyebrows as high as they would go. "Excuse me?"
"What?" I looked at him blankly. "I like to play volleyball!"
"Oooookay." he pursed his lips and turned back to the Olympics. Wise man. If he had said what he was clearly thinking, from his glance at my stomach, I would have had some choice words for him.

I am perfectly capable of slapping a ball around, and even diving after one. I wouldn't be by the net because I'm short and can't jump very high, so I can't spike. But I can serve like a mofo. And I'm kind of surprised that my dad would make the assumption I'm too fat for it, honestly. The man has seen me chase dogs around his house, run endless circles around restaurants, pick up my cousins who are taller than me and swing them around, heave around furniture he said was too heavy for me, etc. etc. And yet he's shocked I expressed interest in volleyball. What must people who don't know me at all think? They must see me walking around and assume I'll start sweating and collapse at any moment! Not that I care all that much; assumptions just bug me.

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.

Challenge ahead.

I'll be spending the next 24 hours at my dad's house, which is always full of chips, crackers, pastries, pies, bread, and ice cream. And he likes to make corn and potatoes with dinner. And he has Danishes and cereal and stuff for breakfast.

Breakfast won't be a problem; I'm rarely hungry when I first wake up anyway. But dinner, and late at night ... it's going to be hard to resist. Especially dinner, because if he notices me eating any differently than "normal," it'll be interrogation time. And I hate that shit. He knows nothing about nutrition, so no matter what I eat he gets on me about it. Any time I see him, he'll squint at me and demand to know why I haven't lost more weight - no matter if I have or not, it's never enough.

And I know it's just because he's worried. He's convinced I'll drop dead of heart disease any day now, that I must have diabetes without knowing it, that my knees are going to break in half from carrying my ass around. But more than that, he's afraid I'll never find a man to love me and take care of me when he's gone. It's sexist and slightly insulting but sweet, I suppose!

Weight tolerance.

First of all I want to make it clear I am in no way criticizing anybody's reasons or methods for weight loss. I'm not saying I'm better or anything. I'm just pondering.

I've been reading a lot of blogs -- reading and writing distract me from my stupid moping over my ex, at least somewhat. In my reading I keep coming across things that I find I sort of struggle to relate to.

The big one is people talking about how heavy and uncomfortable and tired they feel fat, how hard things are every day. They talk about pain, especially in their back, hips, ankles, and feet. They talk about those things being alleviated as they lose weight. I've been over 200 pounds for at least ten years (with a couple of dips), probably more like 12. Half of that time, I've been over 250, and at least a quarter of it I've been over 275 pounds. The most discomfort I've had was last year when I felt sore around my ribcage when I woke up, which I thought was probably from fat pressing on my internal organs. (Of course, I weigh more now and it's not happening.)

Other than that, I haven't had the kind of pains the obese normally have (or are expected to have). When I was hating myself and blaming everything on my weight I thought my foot and ankle pains were from my weight -- until I realized that even my thinnest coworkers were constantly complaining about the same pains. Waitressing just beats you up. And when I have lost significant amounts of weight, like the time I got down to 187 ... I didn't feel any differently. Nothing hurt any more or less.

I suspect the fact that I've been fat to some extent or the other has a lot to do with that. I've always been relatively active - walking to catch buses, riding horses and herding goats, waitressing, trotting across campus (the last seven months I have been a lazy ass, though). As my weight has increased my muscles have adapted, and my ligaments and tendons have as well. So I've just never felt like normal daily tasks are painful or overyl tiring or really uncomfortable. Life is hard because life is hard, my flab has nothing to do with it.

In fact, until I started blog surfing, I always thought of those problems as affecting people at much higher weights than I'm at. When I weighed around 260 pounds, my father suggested that I have some sort of weight loss surgery - and I laughed at him and told him that was ridiculous. I would never have imagined that someone around my size/my weight would be willing to have plastic implanted in them, or have their internal organs re-arranged. One of my favorite bloggers had a lapband put in at about twenty pounds higher than my current weight, and I still can't wrap my brain around the idea. And yet as I surf around, I find more and more people at my weight or lower who have had these drastic surgeries. And it just blows my mind. Again, this isn't a criticism - just personally eye-opening.

In less randomly blathering news, I ate well today!

Hey look, the headache came back.

I woke up and for once was hungry right away, so I made myself a nice sandwich on thin bread. Since then I've just been craving french fries with lots of ketchup, Velveeta shells and cheese, and cookies with chocolate and nuts in them. I suspect it has to do with the time of the month, so I'm just keeping that in mind. I've also been meaning to go to the grocery store all day, but was concerned that being surrounded by all the things I can't have might lead to some self-justification. It's surprisingly easy to do. Of course, then I started getting hungry again, which just makes it more likely. I drank some milk, and I'm hoping that will take enough of an edge off my hunger that I won't do something stupid. (What do you know, it did. I didn't get anything I shouldn't have.)

Really, the macaroni and cheese craving isn't a big deal. I can get some low carb noodles and chop up some chicken, pour on some sauce, and voila. But there's no substitute for french fries or the cookies, really. I just have to ... not. It shouldn't be so hard on a day when I've noticed a definite change. I have this really cute pair of polka-dot brief-style panties, and the last time I wore them I had to wear them under my stomach. They would pull over my flab, but not far enough to stay there. Today, they fit like they were supposed to, and didn't rub anywhere uncomfortable or anything.

A lot of times something like that will cause me to bust out all my old clothes and start sorting them in to piles of now, sooner, later, etc. But every time I do that, it's like a jinx. I promptly start swimming in a sea of ice cream and not giving a damn. So the most I'll do now is occasionally try on my size 22 jeans and see when I can get them pulled up over my stomach. Hasn't happened yet. But bound to sometime!

Dammit.

I already blew through all my carbs again, and I've only had .. well, my first meal of the day, so breakfast I guess. In fact I probably had about twenty grams more than I should have (and I feel like I have a rock in my belly). I really need to stop doing that. I know that, regarding my insulin levels which is what LC is all about, it's much more effective to spread them out throughout the day, plus it allows more flexibility in the rest of my meals. Not to mention, it's very easy to end up having all my carbs at one meal ... and then have them again at the next. And that would obviously just undo the progress I've made. I've been down that road many times in the past. I need this time to be different. To achieve that, I need to not put myself in to situations where somebody else is providing the food or where I feel like they're going to comment on what I eat. That's been a lot of the problem this last week, because I've been around family so much, at the hospital, etc. Luckily this week is looking better in terms of that.

Have to admit I am feeling a little hopeless overall though. I'm still feeling deeply sad. Honestly I'm impressed I've had as few problems with my eating as I have, the last couple of weeks. Maybe I'm finally maturing or something. Or maybe I'll end up flaming out horribly like I have before, haha. The fact that I'm wickedly craving McDonald's french fries is not encouraging. There were many nights before when that urge would hit me and I'd just zip up the street for some. It's unfortunately a very short trip for me. Way too convenient. But I made myself a little pizza on my last low-carb tortilla, so I'm not hungry anymore, so there's no reason to eat anything else.

I haven't worked on my story in more than a week. I opened my laptop to do so the other night, and then decided my time would be better spent applying for more jobs. I have the shitty job in the hopper, I have a possible return to my restaurant job pending, and I have an interview for an awesome job Friday. But I don't want to end up with just the shitty job, so in case I can't go back to the restaurant, or in the likely event I don't get the awesome job, I want to have other irons at least near the fire.

Forgot to post this last night!

Grandmas and their recipes.

Went to see my dad tonight, and didn't think food would be an issue. Dinner with him is usually pretty simple: some sort of meat, some sort of vegetable, some sort of potato. When my aunt is there, it tends to be a little lighter, maybe just salad and meat. What I didn't count on was my grandmother being in charge of dinner ... and making homemade chicken noodle soup.

Dammit. Now, I know I could have refused to eat it and dug some cheese or something out of the fridge. But I didn't, for two reasons: one, I didn't want my grandma to cry, and she takes it personally when her grandkids don't eat her cooking. And two, I would have had to come up with an explanation why, and I am so not comfortable with my family knowing I'm dieting. The focus of every conversation becomes dieting, and dieting "tips", and success stories, and supportive-but-dickish comments about how they're so glad I decided to "do something about my body." My grandmother and aunt will go so far as to call me up to check on my progress. It's just a disconcerting amount of attention being focused on what I eat, and it makes me completely uncomfortable.

So, I ate the chicken noodle soup. With the big fat starchy noodles. I suspect I'll feel like shit when I wake up, between the carbs and the sodium, but tomorrow is another day.

Nothing and yet too much.

My brain feels curiously blank lately. My emotions are still running all over the place -- had two different cry-sessions today over the ex -- but I feel like I have few coherent thoughts about any of the emotions tumbling around inside me.

I did have a couple of good evenings. Yesterday I spent most of the day with my dad, taking him home from the hospital and making sure he was as okay by himself as he insisted. Then I went to the restaurant I worked at to meet a friend to go for a drink, but she was running late so I sort of hung around reading for a while and chatting. Then we had a drink (Jack Daniels and Diet Coke pour moi), she had some cigarettes (I didn't even ask for one, and I smoke sometimes when I'm stressed out), and we talked. She's been so busy moving, working, and raising her three kids that we haven't had time to hang out in a long time, so that was really great.

Today, I saw my grandma for a while and had dinner with my younger cousin. She's about to turn 17, and I probably talk to her about more things than I should, but she and her sister have always been more like my sisters. We talked about boys and cried over our respective heartbreaks, which felt a little weird to me. Usually I'd suck it up and try to put on a brave face for her. But she told her therapist during a family session that our family doesn't share emotion, and so she feels like she's not allowed to. So when I started getting all freaking weepy about him, I didn't hide it. I hope it was the right thing to do.

Anyway, for a while after both of those social activities, I felt better. In fact, yesterday I felt happy for the first time in a long, long time. But it didn't last; a couple of hours later my sad came back with a vengeance. Interestingly, none of this unhappiness/brief forays into normality have had an effect on my eating. Sometimes when I'm happy I want to eat a bunch of junk because I feel like I'm happy, so why change anything? And sometimes when I'm sad, I eat because who the fuck cares. Haven't vacationed in either emotional eating spot though, which is nice.

I haven't made very good food choices though, at least in terms of spreading my carbs out. They've tended to be clustered around one meal. So I need to work on that a little. Haven't done any exercise either; I'm still just ridiculously exhausted from last weekend because I haven't had more than two hours of sleep in a row since then due to leaving my phone on in case my dad needed me. He never did, but plenty of other people called me. Constantly.

Five days and counting.

That's how long I've had a headache. Actually, it's probably multiple headaches that have just bled into each other, because the pain has moved around a lot. Really getting on my nerves though. I've been extra careful to be hydrating, take my allergy meds, and sleep enough, and I did a sinus rinse last night that really just seemed to make it worse. I've got a pretty high tolerance for headache pain, thanks to spending the first 26 years of my life with completely fucked up sinuses. But this is just getting ridiculous. Between the sore ankles, the lack of sleep, and the headaches, I have yet to try that C25k workout again, but I haven't forgotten about it.

Been thinking about starting a routine of good old-fashioned abdominal crunches, because I'm realizing that I've lost what core strength I had from years of bending and lifting while waitressing. Which I may be going back to anyway, sigh.

I was able to wear one of my favorite t-shirts again today. It's nothing special, just a nice chocolate brown v-neck in a comfy material, but I like it. It was tight before, not constricting my blood flow or anything but would ride up over my stomach etc. Was nice to wear it and be comfortable today.

Car comfort, hula hoops.

The car I'm currently driving is ... well .. it's a car. It gets me from point A to point B. Of course, it died in rather spectacular ways twice which is one reason I'm jobless now, but anyway. I've hated driving it the whole time I've had it, but the last couple of weeks I've been hating it less. I thought it was just because I wasn't spending two hours a day in it anymore like I was when I was working. But today I realized it's something else. See, it's a two-door car, with really long doors, so the seat belt has to stretch really far. Also, the steering wheel doesn't go up very far. And I have short legs. And the clutch has to be pushed it really far to shift. And I have a fat belly. So when you add all that up, you have my abdomen being smashed by a seatbelt not long enough because I have the seat so far forward, and the steering wheel rubbing on my stomach because it's so big.

Well, whatever I've lost, water or fat in whatever amount, is just enough so that I can drive without the wheel rubbing my stomach, and I can even breathe while doing it. Amazing.

Been thinking about getting a hula hoop. I have a nutty hippie aunt who hula hoops to live music on stage and stuff, and she said it really helped her feel better - that it's hard to be bummed out while hula hooping! God knows I need some amusement.

Trainwreck of a day!

Okay, maybe trainwreck is overstating it. The day at the rodeo was actually pretty fun despite my exhaustion -- I hadn't see some good ole steer wrestling or anything in years and I really enjoyed it. The day was marred by my father being admitted to the hospital for a burn from three days earlier that he didn't take care of, but that's a whole separate clusterfuck.

Foodwise, not a good day, although I didn't go completely nuts. But today I actually feel okay. No crazy cravings, not bloated as fuck, maybe a little more tired and snotty than normal but hard to tell if that's from carbs/wheat or from exhaustion/sunburn.

Had a surprising moment while leaving the rodeo. When I did the first C25k workout the other night, the minute long runs seemed absolutely interminable and I hated every second. I didn't realize quite how much of that was the awful shoes I was wearing though! My grandmother has knee problems, so she hitched a ride on on a golf cart to get to the car. There were other people who needed a ride so I said I'd walk. In fact I jogged behind the cart for about two minutes, and wasn't even out of breath which astounded me considering my walk/run the other night! I mean, I wasn't keeping up with the cart or anything. And I'm aware that two minutes isn't much. But still, I was surprised that after no sleep, in the heat, after my shitty experience the other night, that I wasn't gasping and red in the face.

I need to try to get enough rest today to do the first C25k workout again; being awake 27/28 hours straight and then not really sleeping that night either has really wiped me out, hopefully I can make it up today.

Can't sleep, and discouraging thoughts.

After an hour and a half, I gave up on getting any sleep at all tonight before my rodeo hell tomorrow. Or in four hours, more like.

It wasn't what was keeping me up, but I did have a very discouraging thought earlier. I won't think I'm not-fat unless I don't have a hanging stomach anymore. Well, the least I've weighed in my adult life is 186. And guess what? Still had a flabby hanging stomach. That means even if I lose a hundred pounds, a lot of things will still be inconvenient. My stomach will still lay on the bed next to me when I'm on my side. I'll still not be able to see to shave ... areas. It'll still be uncomfortable to bend over. I'll still be very big on the bottom and not so much on top. Etc. etc. It's a pretty depressing thing to think that I could put that much time and effort in to something and still not have resolved so many things.

Of course, all those things will definitely still be true if I do nothing.

Struggling on.

I was going to at least go for a walk last night, but then I came across something that really upset me and I ended up having a mini breakdown and just going to bed. Still not too happy today. Not too happy is an understatement. I'm fucking depressed. So far I haven't made any poor choices foodwise, mostly because I'm too bummed out to care much about food or anything else. Yeah, it's about the ex. Yeah, it's pathetic.

Plus I know tomorrow is pretty much going to be a disaster. I'll be spending tomorrow with people I don't want to spend time with (one of whom I actively hate), at a place I don't want to be at, doing something I don't want to do -- and I'll be surrounded by food I shouldn't eat. Which is not to say I'm throwing in the towel immediately. I'll have a good breakfast (eschewing the famous cinnamon rolls at the place we're going, sigh), and I'll do the best I can with dinner (I have no idea what my aunt is making, my luck lasagne or something). Not sure what I'll be able to find at a freaking rodeo/fair/carnival that would remotely okay, plus frozen pina coladas are going to be enticing. I don't even drink normally but certain people who will be present tomorrow awaken the urge. Only plus; outside means I can keep my sunglasses on so people won't really be able to see my expression. That'll make faking happy -- which is absolutely necessary with that side of my family -- a little easier. Wish I'd had an excuse to not go. BTW, the person I hate isn't related to me. It's the skanky chain-smoking drunken bitch who's latched on to my father.

The chunk of fat in front of my ribs feels bigger and like it's sticking out more today. It feels discouraging. But I know it's just a feeling. It's because I'm not as bloated anymore, so overall I'm more jiggly; also the first place I lose any weight, even a few ounces, is in front of my hips. So basically there's just a little less support overall for that chunk of fat. I hate that particular chunk of fat. It sticks out over my waistband and it makes my (larger than average and very fabulous) boobs look smaller. I don't like that. They deserve more attention. I have a lot of clothes that, when they fit, draw attention to my rack, so it would be nice to wear them again. Not that I really have anywhere to do so.

I haven't done any work on my story. It's really hard, when swamped under with misery, to try to create something that feels anything other than miserable. Not to mention that crying until you puke makes it hard to type. One day at a time ....

Extra grumpy today.

It's not a job I'd particularly enjoy, nor does it pay what I'd like. But it's something, and it doesn't start for almost a month so I can look for something better before that. Despite that, I'm still very grumpy today. I didn't sleep well; took forever to fall asleep, woke up a lot, etc. My ankles are also still sore from those damn shoes. And I sent my ex a text a couple of hours ago and no response (not that I really expected one).

I've just been very cranky all day. I've tried everything I can think to re-set my little brain. I had a good meal, I read, watched tv, took a shower, listened to some music, tried to take a nap and was too irritated to fall asleep. At this point, I genuinely feel like a boatload of sugary stuff would cheer me up. At least it would be something to enjoy, which nothing else has been today. I feel like heading over to Olive Garden for some breadsticks and something soaked in alfredo. Or Perkins for some peanut butter silk pie. Something. And I know food won't actually fix any of the problems I have. I'm just so motherfucking cranky! I'm really trying not to succumb to this urge, but I've been feeling it all day and that makes it pretty hard.

I watched some of the Olympic ceremony and ate one of my Carb Smart ice cream bars. The sugar taste did actually make me feel less cranky. Of course I'd rather be irritable than depressed, which is what I'm back to now. This heartbroken crap is getting old. Despite that, when I went to the store just now I managed to control myself. Didn't get anything I shouldn't. Did forget a couple of things I should have gotten, but oh well. Have rotten headache right now though.

My damn ankles hurt.

I think I'll be taking those shoes I wore yesterday to Goodwill. They're normally really expensive running shoes, but I got them for $10 at Ross. I got them because they were silver, white, and purple and I thought they were really cute, but ouch. Of course, some of it may also be due to the fact that I haven't done any activity in a long time, and the last time I did I didn't weigh as much. My eating didn't change but damn did that desk job have an effect. Which I knew it would, but then I got swamped under my the things going on in my life and I just couldn't care.

Anyway, hat's the only side effect of last night's exercise I'm feeling. A friend asked me how I felt today, like I was supposed to be all energized or something I guess. And I know for some people exercise releases endorphins that make them feel good, less depressed, etc. They just make me cranky that I'm sweaty and hot and feel like my entire head is pulsing. Oh well!

At least so far today I'm not having any cravings. Cravings require thought or desires, I think, and I feel totally empty of either today. I've got four hours before my date gets here and I have a bunch of stuff to do around the house -- probably only an hour or so, but it seems absolutely insurmountable, possibly because I just don't feel excited about him coming over. I don't feel much of anything about it. It's not really even a date; he'd just be a source of sex. And it is so not like me to be hesitating about that. Joys of depression/heartbrokenness I guess. The thing that pisses me off is that for a while, I was doing pretty okay. Then one of my best friends got engaged and it's like a dam of jealous misery cracked open in my head. Gotta run out eventually though.

Had leftover LC mac and cheese with chicken for breakfast; a glass of milk and a peach for a snack. Realized I don't say nearly as much about food as a lot of bloggers do, but that's really on purpose. Part of me wants to write everything down and weigh and measure and track it just for curiosity's sake, and because I'm the type who likes to look at charts and graphs. Maybe I'd lose weight more quickly if I went there, but I know that obsession lies that way, and with obsession comes a lot of mentally unhealthy things that I know will just cause me more problems in the end. Besides, what am I going to care about more when I look back at my blog in a year, or even a week: what was going through my head, or how many baby carrots I ate?

I did some cleaning - my house looks pretty good right now -- and was feeling a little more optimistic about the guy coming over. Then, about thirty seconds before he got here, I saw a piece of paper under my DVD player and wondered what it was. I pulled it out and found it was a receipt from when I went to the grocery story to get supplies to cook dinner for my ex the first time he came over. Really just fucking excellent timing, that. Now that the guy has left after an awkward hour or so, I feel sad and empty and like hopping in my car and going to McDonald's. I know french fries won't fix anything. Neither will chicken nuggets. But I want some form of comfort and don't feel like I have anything else available. I don't know why that kind of food feels comforting, especially since after eating it I feel like there's a rock in my stomach and I'm pretty disgusted with myself.

Okay, that was a strange experience. I went into my bathroom to get a Qtip. The medicine cabinet is mirrored and has three doors, and one of them was not quite shut. It created an awesome optical illusion (identifiable tattoo blurred out!):

I've tried before to use those online predictions of what I'd look like if I lost a lot of weight, but they've never inspired me because that's just something on the computer. But I stood there for several minutes looking at this, wondering if it was something I could accomplish. Who knows. But it was an interesting experience. And stopped me from pursuing junk food too. Instead I cooked a couple of hamburger patties with some jack cheese, popped them on a sandwich thin (those things are awesome), and had some carrots and cherry tomatoes too. Go me.

I got bored a couple of hours later. Since my floor was freshly vacuumed, and my house was reasonably cool, I whipped out an old yoga CD thinking I'd do some relaxing stretching. Yeah, that lasted about five minutes. I couldn't focus, for one thing, and for another I forgot how much the woman talks. And how much I hate downward-facing dog. 

I ran. A little bit.

Well, I did the first workout of the Couch to 5k. Sort of. I only ran the first four intervals, I walked the rest. It wasn't so much because I was too tired, although my muscles did feel a little jell-o like. Mostly it was the cramp in my right side. And the fact that I forgot the shoes I chose just plain hurt. My right Achilles' tendon and my left hamstring tightened up horribly, but felt better as soon as I took the shoes off. Never wearing those again!

I got the C25k app for my iPhone, so it was nice to have the little recorded voice telling me when the intervals changed. Made it very easy. Assuming I can motivate myself to put on a (different) pair of sneakers in a couple of days to do it again, I'll re-do the first workout. I'll keep doing it until I can do all the running intervals, and then I'll move on. Since I don't actually care about running a 5k (I don't really even know how far that is), time and distance don't really matter.

Of course, I know there's a chance that in a couple of nights I'll look at my shoes and think .... fuck that noise. Because I hate the feeling of sweat leaking out from under my hair. I hate my face feeling hot. And that rush of blood pounding in my ears, in my head? I fucking hate that. There's no sensation regarding exercise that I enjoy. Oh, there was a certain amount of satisfaction when I could lift a higher weight, not that it did me any practical good. And swimming at least didn't have the sweat and body temperature issues. But other than that I really just hate everything about exercise.