Operation Mini-skirt: -44.2 lbs.
Mental State: Bearing up.
I gained four ounces. I blame it solely on the weight of my guilty conscience.
It's my diary. I can indulge in mental torture if I want to.
* * *
Today is the kind of day where my boots puddle around my ankles, and my bra straps slide off my shoulders. Weetabix will be happy to know that the bra, while having stubborn shoulder straps does, at the very least, have the grace to match the underwear.
* * *
I really want a margarita or something, right now. Or, like... half a pound of smoked salmon and a litre of ice cream. And some nachos. With jalopeno/cheese sauce. It's been that kind of day.
Pierce came and killed some time at my desk after work tonight. Thank God, actually, because I suspect that if he wasn't there, I probably would have ended up raiding the kitchen for junk food. Like I said, it's been that kind of day. I can't be left alone on days like today.
* * *
I just need to get through the week. I'll be fine in a few days. I'm just... disconcerted... right now. It's not just guilt, or waiting for the phone to ring either. It's spring fever. The weather is changing and is having Poe-like effects on my emotions. The office is going crazy. Four Piranha's were let go this week, and today, my penultimate boss, the Veep who heads my department, was let go. Huh. I suppose this is not the best time to be asking for a raise.
* * *
I saw a woman at the doctor's office today. She suddenly smiled to herself, and her face lit up at whatever she was thinking about. That was lovely. It made me feel good for a while.
* * *
I need to get some sleep. Love you all, darlings. Eat some chocolate for me, will you?
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