It’s the hols now, second week and nothing’s been up for the past few days.
Mood: considerably better, especially when I take my brother’s incessant shit talking by my stride. Shoot the damn dog.
Weight: Fluctuated due to a tsunami of excuses; “it’s just the occasional can to spend my change” “I’m too tired to run today” Very disappointed in myself but a carb-free diet (the gym rats call it ketosis) is going to make things right, I hope. Only problem is that all outside food boils down to salads and sliced fish soup, which is testing my discipline. Then again, it’s only been day 2 and I’m already feeling giddy after 5 hours of no food.
Grades: Not hopeful.
Roles: Student Fellow, Publicity for Stage, Orbital participant. I pray the next semester goes easy on me.
—
I noticed my voice quiver; I couldn’t tell from sickness, anxiety or hunger.
Weakly, I raised, “I think the diet’s getting to me. Feeling all weak and shit.” My hands shifted uncomfortably within the large confines of my oversized sweater, seeing her concerned gaze. “It’s fine, really! I’ll be better, no rush. You know how they say it, ‘As in it’s OK what.’ ”
“Really,” she said, putting down the pin she was toying around with and making a motion to leave. “We should get something to eat!”
Her little hands tugged against my arm’s crook. “Let’s go!”
I smiled weakly at her chutzpah and shuffled along.
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