I'm so frustrated today and I don't know why. I hate those people who manufacture teeny little Easter chocolates. They're tiny, so I grab several. Of course, tomorrow morning on the scales will make me more depressed. I've got less than a month to lose 6 pounds or more. My goal is 120.
I weighed 108 when I got married at the age of 25. I've weighed between 115 and 120 after the births of both my children. I'll be 40 on April 22 and I really just want to be back to my regular weight.
On the good news front (I guess), I stopped taking my Paxil and Ativan a month ago. I finally threw out the remaining Paxil. I hated that shit. I'm hanging on to the few Ativans I have left - just in case.
I made up my mind that I'm just not living like that anymore.
The Evil Twin and I plan on watching an episode of Dexter or two. He's behind where I left off, so we'll go back and I'll watch a few re-runs - which, in the world of Dexter, is no problemo. He could park his shoes under my bed any old time.
I am also starting to feel somewhat better about myself - Rock of Love with Bret Michaels is on TV and that whole thing is above and beyond pathetic. What a bunch. There's more silicone there than a plastic surgeon's office. OMGosh... there's some skank making out with Bret right now and I don't feel so well. I don't care how much money he has, he probably has mouth herpes too and if he doesn't - he's trying real hard to get it because I've seen him tongue every girl on this show in just about 7 minutes of viewing displeasure. Gross! I know, I know... turn it off, right? It's like a train wreck.
He's an effing tit talker too! He only talks to the girls' tits! Bret - they're FAKE. No big deal! Or maybe he's trying to save himself from looking at their blue eye shadow. Hard telling.