open letter to my flu-like symptoms

runny nose. congestion. fever. chills. headache. body aches. sore throat.

you've made me miserable at work. you've made me sleep for twelve hours. you've turned me into a whiney little baby.

when are you going to give a girl a break, huh? stayed-the-same?? phuck you, too.

(speaking of which: wtf, wfc? trying to break my heart?)


in other news. sometimes i see myself in a mirror-- like today, sick for the first time in over a year, dressed to survive the day in comfy shoes and a plain long-sleeved tee (not black, GASP!) and i see a normal person. regular.

i had two food-centric engagements planned for this weekend, but i think i'll miss both in favor of OMG SLEEP. which also means i might be able to post some pretty numbers on tuesday for FUCKING NOVEMBER. abuh?

graduate record exams

as you may or may not know, i am in the process of applying to a PRESTIGIOUS university for my ms degree after what can best be described as a train wreck of an undergrad career. encouraging, isn't it? you also may or may not know that i am very bright and an excellent student. god knows, anybody who looks at my undergrad transcripts will fall into the "not" group on that one. it is ugly, my friend.

my personal timeline for completing my application is december 31. it's rolling admission for this program and, though the application deadline is the end april for them, i want to get mine in a bit early so i can beg to get in. that's right, BEG. i'm going to try to arrange an admissions interview, even though i don't believe they normally do them until you've passed the paper phase of the application. so, tell me what you think of this idea i've been tossing around...

so, i'll go in there all, listen, mister, i know my gpa sucks monkey balls, but LOOK! at my two GLOWING letters of recommendation, and my resume which is not too shabby, and my gre scores which (god help me) do not suck any kind of zoo-dwelling balls. see, a fucking bad, bad thing happened to me and it sort of messed up my life for a while, but i can stick-to-it NOW, i've got the bull by the horns and i won't let go. you want some proof? BAM. here's my wedding photo. look. what. i. did.

bad idea? overly personal? just plain awkward? i'm trying to find an angle here because i'm kinda type-a about stuff and if one brick goes missing the whole project (code for: my fucking life) is DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMED.

saw another odd overnight two pound drop today. can only assume a return to normal, healthy foods is causing a drop in retained water. but i have hope of posting a happy number for november.

two months, two days. so says my ticker. i guess that's left in this year. yikes.

890

to the best of my abilities, i have calculated last night's dinner at 890 calories. fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) i hadn't eaten anything up until that 9pm mini-binge/monster-meal.

i had a crap day back at work post-procedure and the man of the house and i had a legendary argument on the way home, so i just zipped off to school (half an hour early) hungry. on the way home, i stopped at wawa for dinner, mostly because it was dark and rainy and i knew by then he was worried about me (and yes, i feel a little bad about that now). i got the same meal as monday: crispy chicken, little mayo, lettuce, tomato, pickles, onion on a shorti the calorie count--680-- is for a kaiser roll and full mayo, but it's all wawa will give me. i got the small bag of chips (140) and swapped out the pint of ice cream for a 1/3 ounce piece of dark belgian chocolate from the pound plus bar at home. coke zero, of course. and a fucking cigarette.

yeesh. it's been rough.

as always, though, the number game fascinates me. down to a pretty normal for lately 170.4 today with 8 weeks to get to 156. that's fifteen pounds in 8 weeks and doable.

if i stop fucking up.

(ps-- i lost one of my precious few followers... do you think it's because i say "fuck" so much?)

on the weight of a clark's nevus

question posed two weeks ago: how much do you think a clark's nevus weighs?

answer discovered this morning: -2.6 pounds

know how i figured it out? i got one removed yesterday and gained over two and a half pounds.

okay, that's not accurate. my nerves started going on friday, so i munched and ate and drank and enjoyed. saturday was spent baking and then attending a party where the food was AWFUL but the beer was plentiful. (and where i was not recognized-- owing more to the black pixie wig i wore than my size, but that was mentioned, too.) and sunday, naturally, i had to recover. and see saw iv after which the only thing i thought i could stomach was pasta with cheese-- no blood! er, sauce.

which brings us to YESTERDAY. aka: surgery day. surgery day went like this:

• 10am: two xanax
• 11am: the doctor is running AN HOUR behind. i left my xanies at home.
• 11:30am: i get called back, surprise!
• 12:00pm: i'm out and no copay-- sweet!
• 12:15pm: my heroic kid brother drops me at the wawa next door to my apartment-- the husband has taken off the past two monday's to take his grandmother to pre-op appointments for next week's total hip job.
• 12:30pm: i get home with a shorti crispy chicken sandwich with light mayo, lettuce, tomato, onion & pickles, small chips, large coke zero and a PINT of breyers oreo ice cream. (which is very airy and thus only 640 calories instead of the average 800-1000!)
• 1:30pm: it's all down the hatch and i sleep til the mister gets home.
• 5:00pm: which he does, bearing flowers and those "rainbow" cookies from 7-11 that i lurve.
• 5:15pm: i manage to throw together a meatloaf, homemade mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.
• 6:30pm: which i follow with two glasses of wine and about an ounce of dark belgian chocolate.

will you believe me if i tell you i feel like crap today and wish i was still at home? cause i do. and my fingers seem to think i ate a saltlick.

so, we're just about 8 weeks out from december 23-- my original end date, and 9 from the end of the year. i've got 16-22 pounds to take off in that time. this can be achieved through NOT FUCKING UP, right?

peanut butter + instant vanilla pudding = bliss

and i DIDN'T INDULGE. that is all.

no! i kid. there's a little more. it's all up, down and around. i have a party to go to tomorrow, for which i'm making cupcakes and planning on NOT drinking a ton of beer. maybe. probably.

yesterday i went out for a beer to the magical gastro-pub across from my apartment and didn't order fries. just. keep. not fucking up. (well, okay, there WAS a beer. but my companion had TWO beers, and a quesadilla, AND chicken & broccoli alfredo. so i did good.)

i saw "finding nemo"

okay, does anybody else sometimes-- completely unbidden-- hear a little voice in your head saying just keep swimming... just keep swimming... ? no? just me? okay.

everyday that my goal is DON'T FUCK UP i get a little charge out of, you know, not fucking up. yesterday i only fucked up a little -- in fact, i was withing my range, i just didn't make the best possible choices (beer and an unfrosted cupcake). i kept swimming.

so, i have a huge anxiety problem, right? you know that? and lately i'm anxious about two things: money & my future.

money-wise, we're quite comfortable. we live within our means, but not far enough below to pay off debt (a little consumer debt, a little student loan debt). last night, all whipped up into a frenzy, i made a plan to get us out from our consumer debt & my husband's student loans by september.

which is when i hope to be taking on a WHOLE LOT more student loans.

which brings me pretty neatly to my second point: i'm trying to get into graduate school with a really awful undergrad gpa and not very much hope for a great recommendation. so, basically, my argument is "but i will TRY this time!"it's a little scary and hard, so i've set some simple rules for myself: 1) no new books until i've completed my application essay, and 2) schedule my gre test and study schedule next week. ummm, YIKES.

so that why i've got to just... keep... not fucking up. that's why i'm ready to be done, even though i'll never be thin, exactly. i'm TIRED.

in other news... i dug through my closet for pants to wear with my joan of arc costume on saturday (it came with really cheap capris, which, no.) and unearthed a pair of express "correspondent" pants in size 12 and damned if they didn't fit! i mean, it was close, but doable close, not "they'll be fine as long as i don't sit! or breath!"

so. twelve. me.

something like 70 days

there's something like seventy days left until my done-date. and less than 20 pounds to go.

yesterday i did not fuck up. surprisingly. it was another crap day. having school REALLY helps, though, because i'm not near my kitchen for an extra 3 hours. my numbers are getting pretty again.

today is another day to just not fuck up. i think i'll make it.