A while back I asked y’all to come kick me if I didn’t lose some weight, because my clothes didn’t fit anymore and I hate shopping.
Turns out all I needed was a (prescription) drug that fucks up my appetite and makes me so thirsty I drink tons of water and always feel full, plus family, friend, and boy issues. I’m running on bananas, almonds, and kettle chips because that’s all my body is accepting.
I feel like hell, I get wobbly, and my face looks like The Crypt Keeper, but I lost 5 lbs in one spectacular shitshow of a week.
I spent most of the past 2 days in bed (took a sick day yesterday), but eventually getting up, cleaning my house, then cleaning ME. It’s remarkable how an irresponsibly hot shower and clean sheets can improve your outlook. (Plus watching “Trainwreck” again.)
I am going to be fine.
We’re good, now, right, Brain? My family is still fucked, but you’ll let me pine for just the ONE guy (the one who’s actually worth even a passing thought)? And my friends are OK? And we’ll be more mindful of eating at least enough that standing isn’t so challenging and daylight doesn’t hurt our eyes?
Right, then. Onward. Lipstick. Sushi. Power song!
Today I got the best prescription ever from my doctor: yoga, sunshine, reading, and Lexapro.
Well, yes, ma’am! *salute*
Emailing a friend: “‘Xanax and burritos’ should be the beginning of every prescription. It should be pre-printed on the prescription pad with the doctor’s name and contact info.”