One hundred and twenty four weeks out from surgery, and here are the numbers I care about:
- Weight: 242
Up a pound. I’ve been getting by on a whole lot of “fuck it” lately. It’s not ideal, but I’m getting by, so fuck it. I’m a lot better than I was the last time I wrote one of these. I’m not eating like a dickhead. I really wasn’t then either, but that doesn’t mean I’ll pass up the opportunity to beat up on myself when I eat a handful of chocolate chips I know are poisonously terrible for me.
I’m going to keep this one sparse. I don’t have a whole lot to say today, and I’m mostly putting it up to serve as a reminder for where I was at here and now.
Three things I’m grateful for:
- The end of the semester is looming, and the idea of that is almost sexually arousing.
- After I turn in my grades I’ll have five weeks of no work and this has me so excited I could shit.
- Two weeks into it, I’ll go into a mild depression due to the lack of structure and too much free time, AND I DON’T FUCKING CARE.
Honestly, I’m pretty good this week, but this semester has beat me down pretty thoroughly, and also it’s important to keep in mind that the pandemic isn’t over yet. We’re all pretending it is, but that’s a huge fucking lie we’re telling ourselves to psych ourselves up into going to the goddamn mall and buying new phones or whatever the fuck. That pretending is kind of exhausting too.
Here, have a graphic (these are going to be a little taller from here on out, thanks to the new phone I had to buy at the goddamn mall):
