, , , , , , ,

via pinterest via someecards

via pinterest via someecards

Look through your robot friends and behold me, the weak, pathetic human caught in the mist of your interweb. Commence the judging.

I have spent the last month in a complete state of ruin. My body has decided to go rogue and do whatever the fuck it wants whenever the fuck it wants to. Which, to be fair, it has always done. But now it’s like Uma Thurman from Kill Bill. There’s fucking BUSINESS to be had. It’s on road to kill. Phasers set to decimation.

Yesterday, I told my doctor the foods I was cutting out. He approved. Then he suggested I cut out coffee.

You want me to what? 

“Coffee,” he said, “It’s acidic. It has to go.”

“What about black tea?” I asked, once I’d regained the ability to move my lips and make sounds.

“Nah, I’ve seen people with stomach problems who drink TONS of black tea.”

But…what am I supposed to do in the mornings?

My doctor then advised to replace coffee with water, sitting with exercise, exercise with MORE exercise, not sleeping with sleeping, and depression with rainbows.

He ended our discussion with, “You have to believe you’re going to get better.”

Dude, you just told me to cut out all the foods I love. I’m guessing you’re saving the sex, internet, and tv abstinence talk for our next appointment. Gotta give me something to look forward to in my next pep talk.

The past few days/week, I have been attempting to curb my diet. Eat certain foods, avoid others. There was a way, a path, a plan. Currency was offered. Goods and services were exchanged.

via iwastesomuchtime.com

via iwastesomuchtime.com

That plan has all gone to shit thanks to a grocery store employee.

I’ll admit, I’m partially responsible. I went to the store today, barely cognizant of the day or time since I’ve become increasing apathetic towards food and have stopped eating meals. I’ve been depressed about my state of affairs, and because of that, I’ve basically eaten nothing worthwhile even though my husband and myself have gone to the store every honking day since Saturday.

Today, I had one purpose: find edible, dietary approved cookies. I asked an employee, and he led me to about 7 products upon request. In line I noticed, alas, the cupcakes had dairy and had to be returned. The cookies, however, still looked fine.

Once I’d returned to my modest castle, I began putting away the items that I’d bought–too many on account of going to the store hungry (banana chips, self? Really?). I beamed widely at my prize, my cookies, my–

What the fuck is that? No, what the fuck is that?

That is dairy.

So I made a smoothie. A sandwich. Rice. Broccoli. Fake cheese on a fake casserole. I consumed these things. But my body refused to give in.

“Noooooo!” it howled into the wind, collapsing into sobs. “We wanted the cookies!”

“There’s dairy,” I stomped, adamantly. “You cannot have this thing.”

“But we waaaaaaaants!” the stomach wailed in an Oscar performance imitation of Golum from Lord of the Rings refusing to enjoy any single piece of food I put in front of it.

I even tried to appease it with alcohol. Come on, now. Remember alcohol? You used to like alcohol. 

This is more like it, the body responds. I think we can make it. I mean, we’ve been to the store like every day since forever. We’re not going back tonight to return the imposter dessert whose figure we were assured was innocent tonight are we? 

No, I agreed, we’re not. It’s one day. You can survive.

Despite desiring sleep, I restlessly resisted the dance of dreams and continued to flit away my time until…

Until I walked to the kitchen, opened the cupboard.

What are you doing?

Walked to the couch where I parked my ass, my weapon in hand.

You know *exactly* what I’m doing.

Opened the package, and released the poison into my foodhole.

Cookie after malicious cookie was stuffed into my mouth as I barely bothering to chew or breath, and when I did, I made disgusting gnashing noises. These cookies fall apart with the consistency they’re SUPPOSED to, I thought bitterly, and (you know him as Newman from Seinfeld) Wayne Knight’s character, Dennis, from Jurassic Park flashed into my brain as it always does when I chow down on junk food. Golum and Dennis had a love child, and it’s this moi. I am that ugly end result.

Dear immune system, forgive me for I have sinned.

Upon eating half the bag, I went to the kitchen to find some REAL food. I pulled out the hard boiled eggs I made yesterday morning.

Frozen. They’re on the top shelf of the fridge, and they’re rock solid. That…that sounds about right. My luck would include frozen eggs.

Winding down now that the demon has asserted its power over me. Foodgasms were had, shame was reassessed. I came to report to my blog, not only to vow to do better next time, but to show the other people in the world that you’re not alone. I too ate that thing I shouldn’t have.

My goals for tomorrow include boiling eggs (new eggs, not the disgusting rocks that now occupy the garbage can), eating them instead of accidentally freezing them, going to the store on a FULL stomach, and getting the dietary recommended cookies. And not tearing into them like some kind of helpless tazmanian devil, which shouldn’t be a problem since I’m sure they don’t have the same constrained taste module.

Good night, World. Wish me luck tomorrow.

via evilmilk.com

via evilmilk.com