Bitches, things need to change. Do you remember that time.. just a few weeks ago.. that I was all, "This is IT! I am not going to be a fattie ever again!" and I made all of these promises? I know, I vaguely remember it myself and that could have been in one of my migraine medicine induced hazes where I forgot how much I love mother fucking french fries.
We've all been there.
But two things happened this week that scared the shit out of me. Ok, three. I'll be honest, there were three.
1. On Monday, I decided that I was going to really bite the fucking bullet and do a boudoir photo session. You'll remember like two years ago this was the plan, but then Matt's family planned their family picnic on the same damn day and I couldn't ditch and it turned out to be OK because then Matt's grandma really did die not long after and it was the last family picnic with her. So that happened. And then last year I was going to but chickened out. This year? This year I have no idea what to get Matt for our anniversary (June) or his birthday (August) so I'm like, yes! I'll do this! And maybe this will be a double win and I'll get out of the obligatory anniversary and/or birthday blow job because it'll be better! (See? I'm a fucking genius, ladies.) So while I'm all planning that, Tuesday happens.
2. And on Tuesday I decide I'm going to not wear jeans to work and I'm going to wear my black dress pants. Because I'm feeling pretty and maybe the weirdos at work who follow me around and stare at me won't recognize me if I switch it up. Great plan except my ass is too large for said black pants. Oh you know, the same black pants I bought in August and I debated on getting a smaller size because I was on a weight loss roll? Yeah. They don't fit. So I ended up wearing my ugly black pants which are not flattering and all faded. Fail.
3. Then on Wednesday I was all, fuck this- I need to see where I'm at. So I get on the scale after my morning pee, stark naked and holy fucking shit. I may or may not have started hyperventilating. Am I at my highest? No. Have I slid backwards to be where I was from when I started losing weight? No. But if we all remember my lowest weigh in ever, HERE, we can say good-fucking-bye to that. Right now you're all like, "Oh Sara, stop being so damn dramatic-- it can't be that bad." Yes. Yes, it can. I'm at 174.2. Or 172.4. I can't remember exactly, but it's one of those. See? My brain is already blocking it out.
Which brings us all the way back to 1. (You see how I bring it full circle for you??) I need to get my shit in shape and do it stat. I'm even considering... I know this is crazy so bear with me... eating vegetables. Regularly.
Now let's not get excited and start demanding that I see a doctor. I'm not talking like, vegetables for fun. You'll never see my toting a bag of carrots, broccoli, or celery around. Fuck that shit. I'm talking salads and cutting down on soda. I ran this by Matt today and he said me without soda would be bad and maybe I should just look into bulimia. It'd be easier on us all. Except I'm not a graceful puker and I don't want to clean my bathroom more than I already do. That and I don't have dental insurance to fix my teeth. So bulimia is out. Anorexia is out because we all know I'd make it maybe a day and I'd eat for hours straight.
I really don't want to go lingerie shopping right now because I feel like any self esteem I've built up would be shot within minutes. I also realized that oh hey-- I'm going to Florida in June. That means bathing suit shopping. Oh fuck us all, it's going to be a rough few months.