I’ve fallen off the diet-wagon (for a few day ) and I can get up.
For a month I ate 1,200 calories a day- never more, not often much less. I worked out 3 to 4 times a week and I feel fairly certain that I have lost weight. I mean I can wear my mid-level skinny jeans- not my super skinny jeans, but still. Yet, I have had no luck with the scales.
Yes, I blame scales for my lack of number-dropping. I have never had a scale I didn’t think was broken and after much thought I have decided that that fact say more about scales than it does about me. Scales are faulty- they can’t be trusted. Digital, or that little pin with the rolling numbers- they can not be trusted! I mean one day you’re up, one day you’re down, that scale is like a drug! But I feel like what I’m doing isn’t working.
שׁAnd I’m pissed off. I’m so frustrated. I slave over allrecipes.com to find recipes with no butter,no flour but good taste and healthy ingredients. I am fucking cooking for the first time in my life because I want to lose weight. Yet my chins are still here- haven’t move an inch, all 4 of them.
I hate my 4 chins- I hate worrying about them in pictures, I hate chubby cheeks- facial cheeks that is. I just want to see a change- and I guess for that I need a number to drop off the scale. I need a chin to disappear and a cheek bone to reappear.
Is it that hard, body? Is it? Really? Maybe I just didn’t exercise for so long that even after a month+ of working out my body is still in shock. Like, “Huh?! What the fuck are you doing?!” and it just won’t budge, scared and confused. Maybe my diet isn’t working. I feel like I’m being so strict, but maybe I’m missing some important detail- except I cannot even consider going to some skinny bitch dietitian and hearing how she went from a size 1 to a size 0 in ninth grade and never looked back. Fuck it. I’ll beat that bitch, I really will not be able to control myself.
But I continue on. I go nowhere on the elliptical, I lift weights, I crunch my beloved belly, I eat near to nothing. And I hope that next time you see me I will be -1 chin, like this guy:
can never seem to catch up with that rascal-y rabbit. I listen to my gut now, which is a form of undressing my subconscious, but the best part is that my dreams are becoming so much more obvious!
I used to have obscure repeating dreams about scary Sesame Street, dreams which could mean many things, and came back several times a year to haunt me, taunting me as if to say, “You just don’t get it, do you?”
court preceeding and my ex has a team of young, sexy sleek lawyers like on some TV show and the judge allows them to screen a 15 minute promotional video of how my ex is a saint. Not even remotely hiding my greatest, deepest fears.
A dream where the country is at war and I am kidnapped and made to press a big red button. Not even attempting to conceal my fear of the power of my own anger.
angry- all with a subtext of longing and yearning for us all to be together again, knowing that it means taking the good with the bad.
since, I booked my ticket. So now, my subconscious has begun with its first of what will probably be many dreams of my getting lost, and sleeping in someones living room with strangers, in an uncomfortable box. I am afraid that in traveling alone I will get myself so lost or stranded that I will have to sleep in a box with strangers- nice self-confidence, self!
tomorrow I meet Doc with the Delorean and he offers me a trip 
My sense of perspective has been altered forever, and maybe when we have these vivid dreams- some scary, some awesome- it’s because uncle subconscious knows we can take it and it’s the stuff we need to know we feel, even if we can only feel it in dreams.
Sister, have you ever picked up a discarded guitar in a room full of people, maybe a BBQ or a party. Previously, no one was playing the guitar or paying it any mind. The second a woman gets her hands on a guitar, you can bet your ass there will be a man who thinks he plays better by her side within 20 seconds. He will take the guitar out of her hands, he will fiddle with it, make faces as if what hes playing is so hard she couldn’t even comprehend and then, if we’re lucky, he’ll let her singalong- provided she knows the lyrics to the 4 songs he knows to play. Forget that she knows a myriad of songs and she sings and plays at the same time and could be infinitely more entertaining than he could ever dream of being, the boy must have his toy. In each chord, he conveys an air of “I am a guitar god”, whether he is or is not.
Hording and hogging electronic devices- video games, computers, TV remote controls. I mean in a room full of computers, all of which are unowned by the users- like in a workplace or a computer lab- the first one to the computer and the last to let it leave his grip is a member of the boy-man species. The boy will even go as far as to hide the device or put a password on it, so as not to lose his toy to the hands of the female. For real, there is a soccer game from 2007 saved and password-locked on my Tivo from the days when I was married and living with such boy-man. No joke. As if sharing a computer or erasing a file, or saved game would eliminate the existence the very balls that make him the man he is.
possibly just sit in an office and do the work himself.
keeping appointment books in the parliament than there are laws getting passed? When I worked at the Knesset (Israeli Parliament) I always said that if we did away with the Members of Parliament and let the assistants, powerful women with years of experience, rule the government, we’d be in much better hands. I salute all secretaries, not mere conceptualized Barbie dolls filling the office void and filling out forms. May you turn into a “real live girl (Ala Pinocchio)”, overtake the men you’ve previously worked for and spill coffee on their precious, password encoded laptops.
As 
I have a few months to go before my first 
