No Comment? But Carbs, Please.

Seriously. MUST work on eating. I think it's getting out of hand. It's not that I don't "try", per se. It's that I don't care? And sure, I don't count the 1/8 cup of milk in my coffee, but even I think that's intense.

So far, I've rounded out the day at 896 cals, 108 carbs, 23 fiber (hey, not bad there), and a measly 53.5 protein. If only my mother's house wasn't DAIRY ONLY, sheesh. It's the one thing I hate. Sorry, beans go in the carb category, and it's not like she has 'em here anyway. And there's no fish. And...wait, there's a can of tuna. No, I'm NOT eating it. I could have a protein drink, but I don't wanna. I'm SO mature. Yay, health!

Tomorrow is exciting - see Aboolian, discuss the future, blah blah blah. Please see previous post for the full story.

Target was good today - spent the usual-ish amount. Mainly on cleaning supplies because, well, someone has to clean the damn house. Also picked up two skirts in a size small (what?) because I still can't wear tailored clothes/pants. I'm stuck in skirts and yoga pants and dresses for at least another 1-2 months. I think. When I tried on some clothes o' mine the other day, even if they fit, they hurt, because my scars are exactly where they're supposed to be. Where the pants "hit". So ouchies.

Then we had the impulse buy of "cheddar chickadees", which is probably the only reason I even got above 600 calories today. Yummers. And some hair/deodorant stuff for Mom's, because I decided I'm NOT dragging hair, teeth, and hygiene products from one home to the other. Nuh-uh.

Working on my NYC/Graduation trip. I have so much "free time", but I'm filling it up right well. Yay! It's weird to think of it all, but I think it will do. Good thing I can't wear many clothes, keeps the packing light. I did want to buy a graduation dress, but I think I'll survive without one. Just unnecessary.

I'm very tired. And I even took a 2.5 hour nap when I got to my Mom's. Stupid pennance for "overdoing it" or whatever.

Gotta start working on the car shit for my Dad. Not that I care, but I have to so he'll get off my ass. Well, he's been better (How's the work for Malcolm? not "Have you done your work?") But I still, well, don't wanna.

I'll geeeeet there. I always do. In my own special way. I'm showered, I'll soon be strapped in to my usual Spanx/Assets + Compression Garment and bed again.