Iambic Pentambutter
Week one of the scaleless challenge is complete. I think I’m learning to live without it. It no longer holds the power over me that it once did. I of course say that now, after spending a Saturday night tearfully writing deeply moving poetry about how it was once the air that filled my lungs. I’m over it, though. I burned all the poems in shame, and smashed most of the mixtapes I made. I’m better now. Although I have thus far refused to shave my protest “beard.”
You noticed I put “beard” in quotes. Whenever facial hair appears on my jowly, butter-sculpted face I get excited at the prospect of a rich thicket of face pubes. Some deep and luxurious thing that would get me a job on a fishing boat, no interview required. What inevitably sprouts out of my face looks less like a forest of hair, though, and more like the scorched earth scrublands five months after the Gathering of Juggalos. I really, really hate my face.
I completely forgot to eat yesterday. I meant to eat breakfast, and then just kind of pushed it off and didn’t think about it again until I went to bed, closed my eyes, remembered I hadn’t actually put anything in my face, sat up and shouted “Fuck” a little bit too loudly.
A year ago this would have been a problem I would have loved to have; to be so disconnected from food I straight up neglected to consume it for over 24 hours? Awesome, super awesome. As it is, though, I’m just mad at myself. I’m seriously fucking up this diet thing.
But I have one week left and I’m off to a good start. I woke up and forced myself to cram a bunch of protein into my body with broccoli. I have my lunch made, and plan to force myself to eat it in a couple of hours. As a failsafe, to ensure that I don’t skip dinner, I left some meat defrosting on the counter. It’s a gambit for sure, but I can’t afford to let food go to waste right now, and if I do let it rot, I know that when provisions go low, I’ll be kicking myself pretty hard.
I’m glad I live alone; I would go Donner so quick if shit got real.
Someone in my building commented on my weight loss the other day. This was pretty flattering, and interesting in that I’ve only seen this lady a handful of times since I moved in. I was stoked. Then she said “But I bet your girl misses the playground.” Now, I’m ashamed to admit it, but that left me kind of speechless. I don't know if there’s a really good comeback to that.
