Riley, medium-rare
I’m sitting here making my breakfast, which I need to remember never to do immediately after weighing myself. Bacon is a cruel mistress and should not be dated, not even as a one-night stand. Regardless, don’t let it near your junk; that shit stings. I did happen to weigh in at 261 today. I lost 10lbs this week. That’s intense, like the fire at the circus.
While I’m still very much swimming the deep end of my own olympic-sized self-loathing pool, I will accept my current weight as a small victory. I’m exactly 18 ounces from my lowest weight ever. That’s not a lot. That’s a beer and a half. That’s a really good steak. Anyone want a Riley steak, cause we can do this right now.
This whole “no Diet Coke” thing has been surprisingly disappointing. I didn’t once lose my shit in a Safeway, or try to knife fight the guy driving the soda delivery truck. I honestly didn’t remember I haven’t had any until I started writing this update today. So that’s kind of cool -- I guess I had more pressing issues to deal with than just food.
Oh, hey, two small victories.
I actually came very close to being homeless this week. Like, ridiculously close. I hadn’t been that close to vagrancy since I was 6, and found out we were having baked potatoes instead of chicken for dinner, and ran away. “Ran away,” probably not being the right term. What do you call it when you tell your mother she better miss you, and then high tail it out the front door, only to wait 15 minutes hiding under the stairs on your front porch?
