I've been nursing the same cup of black coffee since 7:45 this morning. I keep nuking it every 20 minutes or so. I still have half a cup left. I just had a sandwich and a Wallaby yogurt (Orange Passionfruit, my favourite)--I'm trying to save the orange for another hour or so. A coworker mentioned that I look like I'm losing weight again. That's heartening because I am trying to be intentional about it. My mother said the same thing to me over the weekend (though, due to family-related stress, I ate poorly and pathologically on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. this confirms that I was fat for so long because of these people. oh. and my poor eating habits.), so that feels like a confirmation. Also, the jeans are getting loose. That never gets old.

I finished Bitter Is The New Black this morning. I checked it out from the library a couple of weeks ago. Tres fabulous read. Entertaining, but there's also a moral. And it's a memoir. The author acknowledges that some stories and characters are composites and/or made up to advance the plot, but in toto, it's like 95% what really went down. This is because not everything that happens in life would make for interesting reading. What is the blog if not a memoir written in relatively real time? I'm pretty much a literalist about reporting and recording the details of my life. and sometimes it is boring--it's okay; you can agree. That is why no publishers are knocking down my door asking to turn this thing into a book. That and the fact that discovering you love yourself after another disappointment in love and dropping weight as a result of said newfound empowerment is pretty old hat. And having a crush on your lit prof is just a cliche.

These are my thoughts as of 11:40 a.m. on Wednesday, May 17th.