This year I am thankful for naan.

I’m conscientiously objecting to Thanksgiving dinner with my family this year, in favor of sleeping in, not driving, and avoiding small talk, and now having an irresponsible quantity of Indian food delivered and getting ready to scare myself shitless by watching Ma in the dark.

It is easily one of my top 5 best mental health choices of the year.

I hope you’re all having an equally wondrous and self-determined holiday, and if you’re not, I hope there’s alcohol and pie.

❤️

Feeling your feelings BLOWS.

Post-therapy-by-phone text to friends.

I might leave work early and pick up some more bonus therapy by way whiskey. And fried cheese. That’s probably what she really meant by “journaling.”

The Wonderful Wizard of Poor Time Management

It seems silly to be single with no kids and only one job and say, “I don’t have the time or energy to deal with starting a relationship.” But I’ve just gotten home at 7 p.m. after an unexpectedly late evening at work, which isn’t unusual. I don’t feel like talking to anyone, and the only thing I want in me is tater tots and a glass of wine. And then I want to go to sleep like the fat, tranquilized bear that I am.

I’m having one of those weeks where I can’t understand how anyone has time to do anything, ever. You people are fucking wizards, I swear.

That’s probably not what they meant…

Oh, trust — my mother inspires nearly ALL my gin consumption. #ginspiration

You’re not the boss of me! Oh…wait…

It’s funny when my brain tries being an asshole like it doesn’t know I have access to pills, bourbon, cheese, chocolate, and pictures of baby animals.

Not today, fuckface.

The power of Chardonnay compels you!

We all know I have weird anxiety about answering online dating messages, so…I’m-a just start drinking this bottle of wine, plop my laptop in front of me, and see if I l get inspired.

What could possibly go wrong?

Seeking thoughts and prayers—the dirty kind.

I’m going to yet ANOTHER wedding by myself tomorrow.

Please send thoughts and prayers I end up AT LEAST getting drunkenly fondled in a coat closet this time.

I can’t be the only one…

I know what they MEANT, but what I read was, “Mommy found out she was pregnant and realized she needed to stop drinking and get her life in order.”

Scorn at Every Size

Me: “I need to lose some weight.”

 

Therapist: “But you get regular checkups and your health is fine? Heart, cholesterol, blood pressure?”

 

Me: “Yes, but I’m MUCH heavier than the recommended highest weight for my height. And I’m not looking at, like, Jamie Lee Jo Bob’s Anorexia Enthusiast Forum — these are weight charts from real medical organizations.”

 

Therapist: “Those charts are based on the same BMI criteria you just told me was ‘horseshit.’ Have you heard of the Health at Every Size movement? That you can weigh more than you ‘should’ but still be perfectly healthy?”

 

Me: “Of course. And I totally believe that.”

 

Therapist: “OK, so…you JUST said your health is fine.”

 

Me: “But it’s NOT. I have a gut like a 55-year-old man with a lifelong Budweiser habit.”

 

Therapist: “I agree you should exercise more often, but if you do, and you eat a balanced diet, what if this is genetically just the way your body is supposed to be?”

 

Me: “It’s not.”

 

Therapist: “So you’re saying you support the idea of ‘health at every size’ for everyone except yourself?”

 

Me: “…Yes, that’s correct.”

 

She doesn’t want me to do Whole30, because apparently you, like, need carbs to live or something? But I’m doing it, so… we’ve reached an impasse. And by “impasse,” I mean, “thing I’m not telling my therapist.”

Observations on trying to eat better

1. Salad is stupid. Fuck off with your leaves, salad. I’m not a goddamn giraffe.

2. Trying to solve problems without burying them in fried cheese is like trying to count to purple.

3. Jesus turned water into wine because even HE knew water is some bullshit.