This is a perfectly logical life plan.

I have this habit of intending to respond to OkCupid messages, but then I forget about it, or I want to wait until I’m at a computer instead of my phone, and then suddenly a week has passed and I think, “Well, if I really wanted to reply, I would’ve made it more of a priority,” so I just delete the message.

When I told my therapist about this, she said, “Hey, maybe don’t do that? You saved those messages for a reason. Either write back or delete them, but letting them sit in your inbox makes them just another to-do item looming in your brain, making you feel like you’re behind on life and bad at being an adult.”

So, um… Can y’all write these dudes back?

Apparently I have hella issues and emotional walls and I think I’m boring so I don’t want to waste anyone’s time? I didn’t know these things about myself — never go to therapy. “I would’ve made it more of priority” sounds far less tragic, like I’m just such a busy, baller boss bitch that I don’t have time for you people and your penises.

But hey, you know what? Frankly I’m doing these men a favor. If I never answer, they’ll never get any of my Crazy on them, and then no one gets hurt. I’ll just continue hiding in my little Singleton cave and never getting laid and letting these feelings deepen and fester until I’m a crazy, old cat lady who dies alone and the cats eat my face. What’s the problem? The cats will be fed!

(Ahem. Why, yes, it has occurred to me that perhaps I should be in therapy twice a week.)

My brain is broken.

Yesterday my friends told me they ran into Guy I Dated For a Minute, and now for some reason it’s all I can think about.

I THINK it’s partly because my doctors are screwing with the drugs I take, so I hadn’t been in the greatest mental place, anyway, but it’s sort of spiraled into a fun rehash of the “not enoughs” — pretty, smart, cool, good in bed… All the things you think you can suck at, I’ve been telling myself I suck at. Like… this dude doesn’t even want to be FRIENDS with me. What the fuck is that? Am I THAT boring? I even offered him friends with benefits and…still no? So I’m not good enough in bed to fuck a third time?

And by the way? The sex was…serviceable. It was good, but not great. It got the job done. And the dude’s nice and all, but I think I mostly saw friendship there. I have no idea why this is bothering me so much NOW. We’ve been not dating longer than we WERE dating, and it HADN’T been bothering me before. I think I’m finally getting that we’re not going to even be friends, and so I just feel gross and used and stupid. Again. (I teared up while writing that, so it’s possible I nailed it.)

The “stupid” is big because I’m attracted to people smarter than I am, in relationships and friendships, and it goddamn blows to not even be friends-worthy.

*shaking head*

UGHHHHHH. Bitch, stop being a bitch, bitch!

(Here’s hoping putting this in writing is therapeutic, because my actual therapist is on vacation this week.)

“Look at me, I’m skinny. It never stopped me from gettin’ busy.”

I would prefer not to be the kind of woman who gets a tiny self-esteem boost when someone asks if she’s lost weight. Especially when it’s accompanied by, “You look so skinny!”

Ahem… I would prefer not to be…

In my defense, I was getting a li’l rotund for 5 feet tall. So it’s good to hear all this fresh food/taking walks/ordering less takeout bullshit may be helping. (Don’t get it twisted — there’s still ice cream. I don’t hate myself THAT much.)

Also, a happy bonus of ADD is that drugs for it can suppress appetite, and dehydrate you so you drink tons of water and aren’t as hungry. They may also have crack in them. I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.

I would prefer not to be the kind of woman who gets a tiny self-esteem boost when someone asks if she’s lost weight. Especially when it’s accompanied by, “You look so skinny!”
Ahem… I would PREFER…
In my defense, I was getting a li’l rotund for 5 feet tall. So it’s good to hear all this fresh food/taking walks/ordering less takeout bullshit may be helping. (Don’t get it twisted — there’s still ice cream. I don’t hate myself THAT much.)
Also, a happy bonus of ADD is that drugs for it can suppress appetite, and dehydrate you so you drink tons of water and aren’t as hungry. They may also have crack in them. I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.

P.S. I know I’ve bitched about people commenting on my weight in the past, so to clarify, this was someone I’m cool with.

In which my squad won’t give me goals.

Email to Friend: “The therapist asked me to write about my accomplishments this year, and goals for the upcoming year and beyond. I’ve been struggling with it because I genuinely can’t think of much. (I assume ‘Keep breathing’ and ‘Stay employed’ are implied. Maybe ‘Don’t sleep with anyone dumber than me?’)

“But I’m finishing Judy Greer’s book, and coincidentally she’s talking about how she has an always-evolving list of goals, what’s important to her, etc., that she reads and revises as needed.

“And then Kelly Sue DeConnick sent this text yesterday to the Bitches Get Shit Done list, so it’s pretty much law now, right? List ahoy, Little Shark!”  

Friend: “I can think of at least three things you should be proud of yourself for, but I’m not telling you because you have to look back and be proud of yourself. You have to look in the mirror and see the good.”

Me: “THREE?! Shit. I’m pretty rad. (I think I had two. Will continue considering.)”

I am what I eat. Ohhhh, SHIT…

I find it rude that my body-image-issue days are so often accompanied by cravings for fried cheese.

“I am a giant, unlovable hambeast. Oh, look, pierogies!”

At least I’m good at self-hatred…?

I would never judge another woman for behaving the way I have for the past year. So I have no idea why I’m being such a bitch to myself, but goddamn, my brain is an asshole sometimes.

Yes, finally… My “plus-size” role model.

So. This woman is a “plus-size” model.

Welp, fuck it. I’ma eat cheese fries. I’m clearly a goddamn heifer. Might as well go for it.

“Don’t look at me…”

In addition to still being in love with my ex, I also have a massive, unrelenting crush on a guy whose girlfriend (yep, hella awkward) looks like Shailene Woodley.

And I look like me. Out-fucking-standing.

I know, I know — “I am beautiful, no matter what they say, words can’t bring me down.” Fiiiiiine. Can I wallow in my blandness today and be all about confidence and empowerment tomorrow?