Operation Mini-Skirt: -49.4 lbs.
Mental State: A little pissy. All I wanted to do this morning was exclaim in triumph, "I lost fifty pounds!" Dammit. So close.
Several mildly distressing things:
A) My breastal area is continuing to diminish at an alarmingly rapid rate. What used to be 'cup runneth over' is now... less. The two things in my world that served as the gifts that keep on giving are now the gifts that are being returned due to undue shrinkage and manufacturer's error.
B) I had a deliciously deviant dream that left me with a smile on my face and a real desire to go back to sleep and relive it all again. I hate it when that happens. Now, all day long, I'm going to be moony and unable to concentrate on anything save but the plaguing worry that my love life is far more interesting when I'm unconscious.
C) Nine days until Valentine's Day. Ugh.
* * *
I was riding the edge of an anxiety attack from about yesterday afternoon onwards. I could feel myself on the edge of great anger or mild hysteria, and I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I knew that the only way I'd be able to get it out of my system would be to physically work it out. A sense of calm would be achieved only once my skin was flushed and rivulets of sweat made their way down my face. So, as soon as I got home from work, I donned some sweats and my old dance shoes, and put myself through the paces of a solitary swing and rumba technique class. Yeeaaahhh... I'm a bit of a loser. You want odd? Picture me, dancing with an imaginary partner, around my basement, wearing sweatpants and heels. It was like something out of David Lynch movie. I'd flip through tracks, until I found something that got my groove on, and then I'd hit repeat and dance the hell out of it. It was like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, when she was doing that kick-ass audition, tossing herself around the room and doing the splits in mid-air. Except for me? Not so much with the splits. Still and all, I felt a hell of a lot better at the end. Not so jumpy, you know? My cat though... I'm sorry to say, after last night's show, my cat will never be the same.
* * *
I was thinking about Grand Gestures the other day. Huge displays of romance or kindness or generosity. Flowers. Surprise gifts for no reason at all. Bouquets of balloons delivered to your office so that all your colleagues can see that someone loves you. Deep and soulful movie kisses in front of people who disapprove. That final scene in An Officer And A Gentleman where Richard Gere picks up what's-her-name and they walk out of the factory with God Lifts Us Up Where We Belong playing in the background.
I want a little of that. Not Richard Gere specifically... but any of the above would do nicely. Is that too much to ask? Is it? Is it?
Right, then. You can get back to me on that.
Enjoy your day, my lovelies.
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