Boyfriend's parents are visiting. They are perfectly nice, but still driving me mad.

Am still fat.

122

27

119

27

I feel terrible and I don't want to tell boyfriend because he'll just tell me to "get out of the house" or something similarly active, which would probably actually be good for me on a multitude of levels, but I just don't have the stomach for it. Need Prozac.

119.5

27

Am depressed. I recognize the signs. Eating for comfort. Sleeping until noon. Staying up until 5. It's not a bad one though. I know what that's like too. When the mental pain is as bad as any physical pain and I just want to rip it out somehow. Those times physical pain is my friend, a release. Right now I don't feel much of anything. I guess it's a mild depression. An inability to get excited about even exciting things. The phone's ringing. Not metaphorically. Right now. It's ding ding dinging at me. Just can't stomach the idea of speaking to anyone. Everyone should only communicate in writing where changing tones and cracks in one's voice can't be detected. Ick.

118.5

28

Intake: 2000-ish

Output: Nothing

Purged: 2 - After dinner

OK, hmm, so I have wanted to post here for a while, but some of the shit I'm about to say is weird.

I have been kind of cyber stalking Woman I Hate. I am on facebook all day, which is just me being bored, but I check her profile way too much. It's weird, but she's a way bigger part of my life and mind since she's been out of my life than when she was actually a daily presence. I've decided that she's come to represent something. I'm jealous of her, which I never was when I actually knew her. I don't really understand it. So that's number 1.

Here's number two. I think I'm bulimic. There. I have been making myself throw up on and off for, oh lets see, 15 or so years, probably more. Not that I am fat, which is not even due to the throwing up. Let me just say, I have never ever noticed the throwing up actually making a difference in my weight. I can't explain why. And my teeth and hair are not falling out, and I've never missed a period. So it's entirely possible that I'm an unsuccessful bulimic, which makes me a looser of the lowest order. In the last few days I've started to think about getting some help for this. But here's the fucked up part: I want to get some help for my mild bulimia because I hope the therapy or drugs will help me loose weight. Like I might be happier, but I'm actually not unhappy at the moment.

I love this anonymous blog. I can sound as fucked up as I really am. Maybe I should go to therapy. Or maybe I just need to change out of these sweats and get away from the computer.

Intake: 1063

Output: stretching

Purged: 1 - After dinner

119.5

28

Pathetic. It's 11 on Friday night and I'm here in my usual spot. On the couch, TV on, computer atop my lap. I live in New York Mother Fucking City! Why aren't I out there? I haven't met any friends yet, and Boyfriend is not the "let go down to the bar" type. I guess neither am I really, but jeeze, I feel like a lonely looser right now.

My new job, it requires me to stay up all night. That's what it takes to bring the people what they want. I'm practicing, watching Kill Bill on TV. The fighting's not actually very good. Uma looks slow. Maybe I'll go back to this.

This whole T episode (wherein he shows up at my corner eatery) has me a bit thrown. It brings the possibility of hurting Boyfriend into reality. I don't like that.

I've also found the blog of my one and only frienemy. It was fun until I realized she hasn't posted in a year.

Cough cough. Am sick. I don't mind much. At least it's weekend. A friend is visiting. We don't do much these days, mostly have a nice dinner, get a bit drunk. Last night we decided we'd spend a rousing evening standing in line so we didn't bother dressing up. I nearly didn't put on makeup, or wear shoes, or pants, or a bra, or... I'm exaggerating, but only the last part. Anyway, I wasn't exactly feelin' it.

So we're on our way out and at the corner I hear my name. We both turn and see T (remember T? I nearly didn't) sitting in front of the place on my corner. The totally nondescript and mediocre place. Even though it is actually, literally, on the corner of the block on which I live, I do not ever eat there. I actually walk past it to another slightly less mediocre place, because one of the basic equations in New York math is: no matter what, there are 18 sushi places in a 3 block radius. It's like a force field bubble in Super Mario, but it's a raw fish and sticky rice availability bubble. So what the fuck is he doing there? Across town from his apartment?

God, he looked hot. How is he still tan? It's almost Thanksfuckinggiving.

We said awkward hellos and politely extracted ourselves from the invite to join them. He was not with the girlfriend, but a ridiculously sexy brunette. All lips and smokey eye palettes. I shrugged off my friend's inquiries, but honestly the incident threw me. What was he doing on my corner? He knows where I live, not the address, but the intersection, so it's not out of the question. But maybe that is self centered? Maybe Brunette McPouty lives nearby and likes nondescript sushi? Ugh! If Boyfriend ever finds out I will die. And not in a Rachel Zoe way.

To paraphrase Harry Burns: in a city of 8 million people, you're bound to run into that guy you almost cheated with sooner or later.

Holy shit. We really are going to have a black president. 

122

25

Am fatter than ever. Have entered pact to loose 5 lbs in two weeks. Then promptly had two slices for dinner.

I read this article today that inspired me to do a little experiment. Let's see how much I talk about weight. (So far 16 posts. More than any other subject.) In this private anonymous space, I know I will do it more than I let myself in regular life. I know how insecure and insane it sounds when you are always going on about being fat. But conversely I find that whenever I stop thinking about weight I gain it. For me a little negative obsessing really helps! Is that crazy? Some of us need a little neurosis to keep us in line. Even if it's not the happiest thing.

123.5

27