The boyfriend keeps telling me I'm losing weight, which I'm not. I'm gaining weight. It's a cleverly manipulative thing to make me realize that I am, in fact, getting the totally normal winter chubbies. I realized it this morning when he said, "Why don't you get on the scale to check?"
I don't do scales anymore. They make me unhappy and don't change anything, and I would have no basis for comparison other than what, at this point, is the arbitrary Magic Number of 110.
I had a happy thought earlier this week after listening to Lena Dunham's interview with Terry Gross when Terry asked something about how she felt about the inevitable comments on her body and Lena said something along the lines of how, essentially, bodies are always changing and to judge a body based on age or weight or height is completely besides the point. Like many things Lena Dunham has done, it's not original, but it sounds fresh coming from her.
The next morning, I looked in the mirror, naked, and thought, "Today, this is fine. Move on." It's not something I'm feeling yet, but it's something I'm thinking.
My sugar addiction is back full force, and I haven't exercised at all for two weeks because I've been sick, so: guilt, shame, mental beration. Microscopic cheerleader in the background: "Stop thinking about it! Start writing! ...Um, about something else."