Going to Costco while under the ravages of SAD is not particularly recommended. I went to buy family-size packages of starchy food for the three dinners I now find myself eating, and when I went in I couldn’t help but notice that the greeter smiled at everyone but me. This made me think of how I realized that sometimes friends hang out without me, and I started mentally cataloging every time this has ever happened to me in my entire lifetime in an effort to prove to myself that no one really likes me. While walking around the store I saw a girl with a stuffed animal, and it made me think of these cute baby animal pictures I looked at this morning to cheer myself up, and there was one of an orphaned pony whose best friend is a teddy bear, and the idea that this poor lonely pony’s best friend is an inanimate object was so bone-crushingly sad I started crying in the Costco. Then I bought a four-pound package of brie because even in that sort of desperate emotional state I can recognize a good value on cheese when I see it.

Living in New York City may have done something to you if you see someone laying on the subway platform who you are pretty sure may be dead, and you stand there and actually mentally debate what you should do:

‘Whoa, is that guy dead? No, he can’t be dead. Look at all these people around. Someone would have done something if he were dead.’ *stands there and unsuccessfully does the slow look around thing to try and catch someone else’s eye*

‘Everyone else sees this, right? Yeah, no. He can’t be dead. I think. *does a slow amble away, punctuated by occasional glances back, I guess in the hopes the guy gets up and does a jig or something*

(For the record, I told the booth attendant but did not attempt to touch the dead man myself.)

I got a new scale yesterday, one of those fancy ones that gives (probably dubious) readings of your body fat percentage and muscle mass. My old scale was one of those plain dial deals, but I noticed lately it was giving wildly different readings from weighing to weighing (even just stepping off and stepping back on), and as I have found over the years weight to be an important and really pretty accurate metric of how I’m doing, I thought it was important to invest in a new scale as I’m trying to take pounds off again. So I stepped on the new scale this morning and found that apparently my old scale was not only varying wildly from reading to reading, it was just plain off in general, and I’m five pounds heavier than my old scale lead me to believe.

I actually consider this a good thing, as old scale was telling me that I was at the weight where I should be able to at least button my old jeans, but I’m nowhere close. I was starting to worry that the small amount that the scale had moved wasn’t reflecting a loss of “real” weight but maybe water weight or an emptier gut and that the looseness I felt in some of my other clothing (the nice thing about being petite – and yes, I am actually petite, as evidenced by 5’4 1/2″ height and my small feet and wrists, which is why I think getting down to 120 is actually pretty reasonable for me, rather than being this starvation level weight that people seem to think it would be – is that the loss of just a few pounds can be noticed. Of course, the bad thing is that the same is true in reverse…) was just my imagination or stretching. Nope, just turns out I had gotten fatter than I originally thought!

In other news of vanity, I am furiously trying to whiten the fuck out of my teeth. So far I have tried Crest White Strips and whitening toothpaste to no success. Now I’m trying some over the counter goop in trays. If that doesn’t work I may plunk down a few hundred dollars for a whitening at the dentist’s office, though from what I read reviews have shown it isn’t more effective than over the counter stuff. But it’s worth a shot, I guess. What’s a few hundred dollars more on top of the thousands I’ve put into these teeth? (Not to mention the thousands that have been put into these teeth that hasn’t been spent by me. To this day I have no idea how much my surgery was, as I didn’t pay a dime of it, but I can hazard a guess. I should find out. I am rather curious.)

And I don’t think I mentioned this, but yes my mom has cancer.

I just set my alarm to get up at the asscrack of dawn so I can workout in the morning before work, and now I have to go to stupid bed so I can get up stupid early, and I used all my calories for the day but I’m still HUNGRY.

No, this is fine. I wouldn’t rather be eating Cadbury Creme Eggs out of a trough pausing only briefly enough to drink beer from another, equally-sized trough. This is totally fine.

But I’m good at being uncomfortable so I can’t stop changing all the time…

So I’m back on the diet and exercise wagon. I can see a killer set of cheek bones peeking out under there, and I would like to see them. If my surgeon and I could each spend 10 years on our relative trajectories to get to this point, I think I can push through these last three months of work to get a sterling result.

And I’m tired of being overweight. And more importantly I’m tired of being obsessed with being overweight. I talk about it all the time – self-deprecating jokes about being chubby, whining about how guys won’t date me and I bet my bad luck is because I weigh more than I used to, oggling at how everyone in New York is so thin and constantly comparing myself to them and feeling bad about it, taking way too many selfies because at heart I’m incredibly insecure.

Not to mention this messed up mental soundtrack that’s been emerging – vacillating between feeling resentful toward men who I think are rejecting me for my weight (“What, you think you’re better than me? You’re not that good looking either. I can’t believe you think I’m not attractive enough for you.”), wondering whether I even want more men to be attracted to me if I lose weight (“Shouldn’t you love someone for the inside? Nearly everyone I’ve ever loved has been a person I was not initially attracted to who I came to think was insanely hot once I fell in love with some aspect of his personality. If it’s really love, isn’t that the way it should be? And these extra thirty pounds won’t matter anyway? And if they do matter, can I really be with that type of person, given that I’ll probably always be the type of person who puts on ten pounds at Christmas?”), and completely accepting the situation as logical (“Well, I can think of all sorts of superficial reasons I wasn’t attracted to so-and-so…”)

It’s all a boring, superficial schtick, and I want to devote my energies to cool and interesting things. Looking back I feel regret at how much attention I’ve paid to my appearance and what other people think of my appearance. When I think of what all that energy could have gone into…

I decided to try the Insanity workout, which is basically high intensity interval training. It’s HARD. Impossibly hard, and as I was laying on the floor taking a break, sweating and panting, I thought to myself, ‘It will take forever for this to not feel hard.’ And I turned my head to look at the workout and saw that the people on the DVD – these incredibly fit specimens – were also sweating and panting. And then I realized – you’ll never master it. It’s not about getting to a point where it’s not hard anymore. It’s about getting to a point where you feel okay with feeling uncomfortable.

Public policy for the win! Man uses class from public policy degree to convince out-of-his-league chick to date him: “Over margaritas, he went to work, employing lessons on organizational dynamics he had studied during an eight-hour class the previous day for his public policy degree.” Boom! I just realized I have a powerful weapon in my arsenal. (As a side note, am I the only person who thinks a scavenger hunt to find your engagement ring sounds like a colossal pain in the ass? “Ehhhh, it’s fine, you keep it.”)

After years of having his advances toward the bride rebuffed, the groom reached for a line from “Dumb and Dumber.”
nytimes.com|By MICHAEL S. SCHMIDT

NOOOOOOO – whydidigooglethissymptom – NOOOOOOO

I just wanted to see if there were any other people who’d had this surgery who were having this problem as long or persistently as I am.

A man whose nose wouldn’t stop running through it down to allergies. Joe Nagy believed the hot Arizona weather contributed to his endless dripping. He was…

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