why can’t i be the mistress and the wife?
i was just gonna have a bagel.
i’m so impatient with this weight loss thing. generally i can drop weight faster and easier than most people, i mean i have to do the work but if i stick to it, it pays off. oddly this makes me even more impatient. i’m sure this superpower of mine is weakened by age.
i had a modest breakfast when out with the daughter yesterday but i should have just had the bagel.
or the oatmeal.
i was wearing goodwill jeans at least 3 sizes too big just to wear something that wasn’t too tight on my huge fucking thighs. i wore a baggy sweater, barely any make up. this has become a trend. maybe because i feel like i don’t need to try very hard to be cute with this awesome hair i have.
partly because i have been dressing how i feel.
gross. lazy. huge.
i wasn’t able to do any waist training yet this week. i was ill randomly for several days. seems my body doesn’t like the Vit D i was taking or the coconut oil i was putting in my coffee. i will waist train today. even if the only place i go is a grocery store in rednecktropolis. i don’t care about the looks but what a waste of the cute outfit i’ll be wearing.
i hate the way i look but i feel so much lighter and healthier. even with what i ate yesterday. i’m doing a workout program that is realistic, otherwise i will go crazy and drop a ton of weight too fast then hurt myself or just get tired. then gain even more back and have to start all over.
i’m so fucking obsessed but my damn crazy makes routine a serious struggle. when your mood regularly changes from hour to hour or minute to minute…forcing yourself to stick to a routine can be torture or bliss. the torture comes with the guilt of failure, the bliss with accomplishment of goals.
i had to ask my husband if i was pretty. i couldn’t remember the last time he paid me a compliment. doesn’t mean it had been a long time, i just couldn’t remember.
when you are as vain as i am and equally disgusted by your reflection at the same time as i am, well you need A LOT of reassurance. sometimes i get it in abundance from friends, male and female alike, other times i forget i am even capable of being anything but gross and fat.
it seems like i rarely look good, whether i try or not. but the husband says i am always beautiful.
i sometimes want to say to him “pretend I have amnesia and am certain I have never heard you say anything like that ever” because that is how it feels. i know he’s said it but i feel like it’s been years since he said i even looked cute. once a month is not nearly enough. neither is once a week. when the only compliment you get is an erection at the sight of you naked you start to feel like you only look good enough to fuck.
i’ve always been good enough to fuck.
there is nothing pretty there.