A Tell All About Weight

I am voracious eater when given the chance. I will eat anything and everything within my path.

Lately, I have been addicted to Facebook, looking up old friends that were skinny, but not skinny, in college and now they look better than ever. There are many of them. Six that come to mind immediately.

I, on the other hand, have not been looking so good. I remember when I would step on the scale (12 pounds ago) and almost cry because I hadn't weighed that much since my chubby days in early high school.

When I came back from Italy, I weighed the least I have ever weighed and felt so awesome that I wanted to streak through campus to show off my hot bod. That was me at 105 pounds. Since, I have gained 40 and then lost 2.5.

I run and use the elliptical and count my calories and pray each night for a little self-control. I can't knock those pounds.

And, to make everything worse, I dream of the day that the boyfriend pops the big question. In my fantasy, I look phenomenal. We take pictures in the very location where the momentous event takes place, I post them everywhere with excitement and begin to look for a fabulous dress.

I know this day isn't too far off (as in, he hints for this summer) and I desperately want to take off pounds.

It has gotten to the point where I still dream of that day and want it to happen soon, but only if I can lose weight. I want to tell him to hold off so that I can look back at the pictures and not become so disgusted with myself.

I become depressed at the very thought of how I look.

I am literally overweight by 20 pounds at the minimum based on my height/age/bone structure. I have looked it up and verified it across many websites and books. There is no denying that any doctor would tell me I have to drop those love handles and chicken wing arms. The fat between my legs rubs together as I walk and wears patches in my pants.

I used to get compliments from family telling my how great I looked and that they wished they could wear those cute, tight fitting shirts and jeans. Now, I hear nothing and the only reason my clothes are tight is because I can't fit in to them anymore.

My fat jeans have become my skinny jeans. The jeans just laying there in my drawer, gathering dust from not being used and causing an emotional crash when I see them. I have since begun to lay the jeans that I do fit into on the chair in our room to avoid spying those, once, baggy pants.

I have given away all of my cute tops to Goodwill and am down to bare minimums in baggy shirts.

I have worn holes in my spanks from overuse.

I look up low fat recipes feverishly and attempt to make them even lower in fat. My punishment for all of that cheesecake, ice cream, chips, chocolate and other incredible food is to sacrifice the taste of my breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

And yet, I cheat because I love to cook and eat. JUST LOVE TO COOK AND EAT!!!

My only solace is that when I feel depressed I cannot taste and tend to lose my appetite. It makes me feel anxious to feel sad, which usually results in a somewhat upset stomach.

My dream would be to weigh 115 pounds. Not even as low as Italy where I gorged on gelato and four course dinners every night. Where I would sometimes eat appetizers at the bar with multiple beers and then go home to make huge, authentic meals with my roommates. Where greasy pizza was a snack between breakfast and lunch.

That dream weight seems to get farther and farther away with each passing day.

I know that if I can just drop 5 little pounds, that the rest will begin to melt away as if magic. I will put myself into the motions of losing weight as though it were second nature. I could make that range of my ideal weight (as specified by all of my research) between 113-123.

Not that the road to a healthy weight is easy, because I am well aware that I am not in high school or college anymore and that a simple 4 mile run doesn't automatically make me drop two pounds as it used to.

The pictures of the wedding from last weekend want to make me throw up, literally. I feel as though people at work look at me and think, "She used to be SO skinny. She's really let herself go". And I have. I really have no one to blame but myself.

I knew that as you get older it becomes easier to gain and harder to lose. I knew that I had to limit my portions and get my butt off the couch. I knew that my days of walking to and from class were over and I would be bound to a desk the majority of the day. I knew it all, and yet I foolishly ignored it and scoffed at the very idea of ever weighing more than 125 pounds.

I am exhausted. I am overwhelmed. I am somewhat depressed. I want to join the show The Biggest Loser. I need to lose this weight.

Funkdafied

All weekend, I had these crazy dreams.

I guess I haven't had too many dreams that I remember in the past couple of weeks due to the heightened stress of the start of the season at work. I have been coming home, running through my to-do list (literally), and then crashing hard for a solid 8-9 hours only to wake up with nary a memory of that night's dreams.

This weekend I must have been feeling less stress because each night I had major dreams.

One dream, which was really bizarre, must have come from me watching/reading the news and the recent (and never ending) talk about gas prices.

I was at a gas station and I was trying to fill up a little, red gas can. I had no car and for the life of me I could not fill up this darn gas can! I kept trying to stretch the hose and pull the trigger when all of a sudden I had this sensation that someone was after me and I had to hurry or I was going to be killed. I finally got the darn gas can full and it turned into a miniature airplane, so I hopped on and flew away all willy-nilly like into the hazy air.

I think the scene was the weirdest part of this dream. I was out in this hot, grassy landscape. There weren't anything more than some spots of scrub trees and the color of the dream was predominantly yellow.

The other dream I had was this morning.

I didn't watch Law and Order yesterday... or at all this weekend, come to think of it. Yet, I was a law student at Random University (I kind of felt a hint of Gustavus in there) and I was carrying my briefcase and my backpack ready to become a lawyer for the show. The briefcase was full of class papers and my backpack was full of art supplies such as scales, protractors, pencil sets and markers.

I was running down the stairs, having just said hello to a friend I had passed in the hallway, when I ran into a girl that looked very similar to someone I had worked with at Taraccino Coffee. I accidentally bumped in to her and she smiled and said that it was okay because she had a cut on her leg that was completely infected and me running in to her wasn't as bad as the cut. She was wearing a skirt and proceeded to show me the cut on her thigh.

It was nothing short of disgusting and I pleaded with her to go and see a doctor. She told me that she had an appointment set up for that afternoon and that she had to run because she was going to be late for her next class.

I started my journey up the stairs when I heard a loud crash and turned to see her book bag was spilled on the landing. I ran back down the stairs and as I turned the corner to the next flight of stairs she was sprawled out on the floor.

I knew that she had passed out from the infected cut and I immediately began to clean up her book bag and look through her cell phone to call someone. The cell phone didn't work so I placed it in my pocket and began to organize my art supplies on a small table at the bottom of the stairs.

Meanwhile, she woke up and grabbed her stuff and ran to class. I followed her and knocked on the classroom door to plead with her to call an ambulance. That was when she had had enough of me. She opened the door slightly and hissed that she was fine and did not need some random girl from the stairs telling her what to do.

The end.

I know, they were odd dreams.

Goodness gracious perverts

I quick glanced at my blog when I noticed my counter was up by 10.

Then I realized my last blog had a small typo in it causing the title to be: I've gotten in backwards, instead of: I've gotten it backwards.

I guess surfing for porn at work is the norm!

I've gotten it backwards.

It's about this time every year that my boy-toy begins work and I kiss him goodbye until fall. I dread this time of the year because there are so many fun things to do when the weather is warm and outdoor activity is a must.

I nearly cried on Sunday evening when he was pulling out his work clothes and packing his breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next day's activities.

Yet, oddly enough, I have been the one that eats all three meals at work and he has been getting home around the time I used to leave.

I think I have confused my work hours for his and visa versa!

All this week I have been pouring myself over my work to make the deadline this morning at 8:15 so the founder of my company and his right-hand man could take many, many drawings of our proposed development and trail system to wow the builder, architect, and engineers.

Yesterday I arrived bright and early, only to stay for twelve straight hours without leaving the building.

The day before, I put in ten grueling hours.

The day before that, I put in nine and a half.

I am not opposed to going over my forty hours per week. Heck, we were told in school that when we joined a firm we would most likely continue our all-nighters until we had a reached the sublime status of a principle. Apparently, this is when you get your life back.

But, I don't work for a firm. I work for a company which operates on normal company hours and of the three of us working on this project, I have been the only one actually working on the project. Hence the insane hours.

I was very excited last night as I was sure that I would be able to rest easy for the remainder of this week. Unfortunately, the founder of the company wants to have final designs and estimates for the builders approval by next Thursday. Estimates for around 200 houses and a community park. Not to mention our top secret idea that must remain quiet until all of the hoop jumping has been accomplished and the builder presents it through their marketing campaign.

Goodbye summer! I'll daydream of you often from my dark corner office with no windows!

Well, I guess the old saying is right; I can sleep when I'm dead.