(dude, i watched impromptu over the weekend, and that title is HYSTERICAL if you imagine early-nineties emma thompson saying it with little 19th century hair wings. or maybe that's just me.)
no, seriously, it's fucking raining AGAIN. and, as is the way with damp & cold, my broken ankle is owie. and i'm all sorts of tired. and i'm volunteering to sit at the back door of a club for 5 hours tonight. and tomorrow i got a million things to do. and... and...
(i know, right? SHUT. UP.)
in the shower this morning i thought i can lose 6.2 pounds in 2.5 weeks! i CAN! and then i realized it's ONE and a half weeks and that's less likely.
i'd really hoped to be DONE in early january-- an even three years-- but it's not happening. i'm going for my birthday in early march. sure, 3.25 years isn't as nice and round, but we're not shooting to four, so it'll have to do.
and i'll have to stop eating cookies. really.
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