Before tonight, I can’t remember the last time I stepped on a scale. Maybe a year ago or two. It’s been a while. The last time I was weighed I was at about 165 or 170. It was distressing enough at the time to know I was a big fat cow, but now that I’ve gotten a bathroom scale and stepped on it, I know that I’m worse than a cow–I’m an elephant.

This is, of course, all a matter of personal opinion, but it’s my weight and therefore of course it’s my personal opinion! 205! 205 pounds! When did I get over 200? When did I balloon up even more than before? I realize that yes, technically I could weigh more, but that fact alone doesn’t make me feel any better. I feel like a whale. I may not necessarily look like it, but I feel like it. I’ve felt like that long before even knowing my weight, but now that’s the only image I can conjure up to compare myself to (except for the aforementioned elephant). 205. 205. 205. 205. 205. 205.

And the reason for getting the scale is because I just joined an on-line diet program (which, if you’re interested in joining, ask Katie for a referral letter because then she gets a discount or something) and wanted to be able to keep track of any progress. I figured that once the thesis is done, I’ll have more time to cook, more energy to exercise, and a better overall outlook on the world than at the present. My outlook on the world at the moment? Is there any way to express a dark, looming, tenebrous cloud in a sentence without going so far as to take a Sharpee to a piece of black construction paper and scribble until the bleeding ink tears holes through to my desk? No? Then let’s just say it’s not so good at the moment. Masochistic and enraged, maybe, but more generally: not so good.

Like I don’t already have self-esteem issues. Like I don’t already worry about my blood sugar and joints. Like I don’t already hate myself for being lazy and boring and obnoxious and weird. Like I need this right now. I’m going to work on my weight to try and get it back down to a healthy 130 or 140, but that’s going to take a hell of a lot longer than I originally expected. I guess I will be the fat cow at my sister’s wedding after all. I was hoping to be less of an embarrassment by then. Dammit all to hell. I’m going to go type something up for the thesis or whatever. 205. 205. 205. 205 205 205 205. I hate myself.