Dreams and reality are one in the same

Had a horrid dream last night that two friends in D.C. died in a freak accident. At an event I said I’d be there for but, as usual, I couldn’t escape from work.

I dreamed that a third friend asked me to please make time to come up for the funerals.

I went to ask someone at work to release me and all they did was change the subject and talk about other stuff that just didn’t matter. Like, not even work-related. While my heart broke even more.

I awakened today to hear that two people died in freak rollercoaster accidents. Luckily not my friends, but still. What about their friends who hadn’t seen them in years who figured “someday” would come along and they’d all see each other again?

Depudgification, part whatever

Lost 2.5 pounds this week although I think I gained it after going to Bubba Gump’s yesterday for lunch.

I told my meeting leader that I was surprised because even though I always stay on plan (more or less), I really only get the good losses when my stress level abates somewhat. And this week is still waking me up in the middle of the night even though it’s the weekend.

She said the best way to combat the cortisol is to jam in some bursts of physical activity. Because if the stress is killing me, my weight is going go go UP no matter how well I eat.

And that is interesting because I really haven’t changed my eating habits much since I rejoined. In fact, basically I’ve cut out cake, candy and hard liquor … and I wasn’t exactly going overboard with those in the first place.

Now if I could eliminate the work anxiety … and get one of my guys to quit calling/texting me all weekend … I would actually be skinny.

Chew on THAT for a minute. Eliminate stress and be healthy. Go figure.

Of course, if I cut out stress, what would be left?


There are some great things I want to post on Facebook to the tune of “you just went from whore to old whore” and “how nice that you always post pics where you’re drunk with your friends and no pics of your kids.”

It was her birthday and she makes 48 look like 112. I wouldn’t even know she had kids if her baby daddy didn’t have a photo of them. Mother of the year, I tell you.

I went stalking yesterday. Not just online. I can’t help it. I have no feelings left for him in that department but I will always, always be on the lookout for clues on why he puts that wrinkled-ass whore on a pedestal above me. I know, though, that I will never get an answer that satisfies me.

Speaking of answers, and more questions

Mom found an old answering machine that she hadn’t used since my grandfather died six and a half years ago. Thirty messages were saved.

Half of the messages were from the various men she was dating. Half were from one of their wives. Lord.

What’s really sad was that she was dating a doctor. He sounded hot. And nice. And he was. She really liked him. (He was single.)

And for all the sickness in her life right now, just one different decision — to be with him — could have created such a different outcome. She could have insurance. She could be wealthy. She could be WELL. But instead she let Fat Fuck move in with her and then he stole everything we owned and ran back to his wife.


And we wonder why I don’t let men get close to me. I’ve said it a thousand times, fuck me all you want but don’t fuck me OVER.

That’s why I’m alone and she lives with me in all her pain and poor health and that’s why I work so goddamned hard to support us even though this was never meant to be our lives.

No wonder I let myself get fat. I can use that as an excuse for not having a normal life instead of admitting the moments where everything went wrong and everything spiraled out of control from there.

God, what I wouldn’t give for her to have made just one different decision. How different my life would be. I’d be living in Europe or NYC and not in this overpriced Roach Motel. Maybe I’d even be happy or, at least, dealing with different problems than the ones I have now …

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