-- I've gotta get over my bingeing habits. Yesterday I get
home, go for a run (who needs knees, anyway?), do some crunches and push-ups,
and then have a couple of Pounds-Off Bars (they're meal-in-a-bar deals
that Das stole from his work. He hates em', I think they're yummy
-- and full of 100% of the recommended amount of 15 essential vitamins
and minerals!). So then I go downstairs and have a banana for desert.
I'm feeling good and healthy.
Then I remember the 1/2 of Marie Calendar's Chocolate Mousse pie that Das and I had left over from the day before. So I reach into the freezer, find it waiting for me, and waste no time in consuming it. It was sorta hard from being in the freezer, but I didn't care. It was good.
Oh well, at least it stopped me from snacking on Peanuttles (Peanuttles are these peanut-butter flavored crunchy-nut-like snacks). Ray's mom buys big jars of Peanuttles, and she'll keep one on the coffee table by the TV. When I first moved in, I ate a jar in two days. She brought out another one -- it was gone almost as fast. So then she stopped buying them, and I felt so bad, b/c the only place you can find em' is at Fedco, where you gotta be a member to go. So I couldn't buy her anymore jars, or for that matter, any for myself. She finally bought three more jars last month, and I think we're down to the last jar already. I'm trying to pace myself, but they're just so damn good. And they're evil, b/c you don't have to look at it while you're eating it. I'll be sitting there, watching Sportscenter or The History Channel or whatever Ray has on (like E!), and be throwing down handfuls into my mouth without ever actually seeing them. Then I look into the jar, and a fifth of them are gone, and I'm gasp and screw the lid on and slide the jar under the table, hoping to keep them out of my sight so that I won't eat any more.
Of course, I try to keep them out of Ray's mom's sight as well, so she won't notice how many I ate. I swear, my stomach has hidden compartments for certain foods that it likes.
I gotta go to my psychiatrist today to get a new prescription. My Paxil doses aren't having the same effect they were a few weeks ago, so he might increase the doseage or switch me over to something else. Maybe he'll prescribe some weed. Actually, he said that bud smoking shouldn't inhibit Paxil's effect, so if I wanna toke up, it wouldn't have any detrimental effects on the medication. Of course, it wouldn't particularly help me, either, but then again, neither does Chocolate Mousse pie. I gotta get a new supplier, anyhow.
A bud supplier, that is, not Chocolate Mousse Pie. Marie Calendar's is fine, thank you.
I've flaked out on my shrink on two of the last three times. I'm desperate to quit seeing her -- she's really quite bad -- but I feel so bad telling an old lady I don't wanna see her anymore. I know, she's a shrink, she should be able to handle rejection, but still...it's an old lady. Looking into her cataract-ridden eyes and saying "I don't think this is working out," is going to be tough. Maybe I can do it over the phone.
Man, if it's tough saying "I don't think this is working out," to an old lady, imagine if I had to say it to a girlfriend I didn't wanna see anymore.
I've gotta get some. This morning I woke up and my shorts were off. I don't know what happened to them, either. Maybe I was experimented on by aliens. They wanted to see what an unused jaj looked like.
Come to think of, my butt's been hurting, too. I wonder if they planted anything in there while they were at it...