The other day my friend made a side-by-side photo of her face on the day she started working out, and her face a few weeks after, and you can really see a difference — she’s lost weight and she’s glowier (totally a word).
I just did the same photo, and…welp, now I’m just gonna eat a whole pizza for breakfast because fuck this fruit bullshit, I look EXACTLY the same. My body is disloyal and this is just what I weigh. Maybe I’ll be a fat activist. Maybe I’ll just gain MORE weight and get my own reality show. I’m probably funnier than most of the people on My 600-Pound Life.
I understand “non-scale victories” and other standard things people say here, but also…The number on my scale is not moving, and now I just want to eat only manicotti because fuck it, my efforts are meaningless and human bodies are stupid.
Obviously I’d be a couple weeks late on a New Year’s resolution, but…*sigh* I’m a little tired of being fat.
So I joined a 60-day challenge group thing at my gym, and they weighed me, and…*sigh* Yeah.
So…*sigh* Fine. FINE!
I’m eating fruit, and you know what? Fuck fruit.
Honestly, I don’t mind fruit, but my brain is being a COMPLETE asshole about everything I’m doing. So fuck fruit. And fuck exercise, which I did last night, and it was a bunch of goddamn horseshit — all red-faced and sweaty, no orgasm to show for it. Just…WHY.
Also, fuck my Fitbit for being a judgy asshole. I’ll walk when I WANT to, you dick!
Yesterday I wore skinny pants, except I’m NOT skinny, and then I had Chinese food, and then I got puffy, aaand now I have this…fat-rash above my belly button where my tummy was trying to escape my belt.
Honestly, I don’t even know how y’all deal with how sexy I am.