Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath out. When did breathing become a conscious thing?
Keep breathing. Ok. Sorry for that last post. I’m not usually like that. It just seems like everything keeps going wrong. People always promise me “things will get better” yet they always seem to keep plummeting from my all-time low.
Last night was just shitty. I felt gross. I can’t really explain it, I was just so mad. Every little thing was adding up. Like the fact that I’ve been trying to go shopping for the last month for the stuff I
need want but haven’t had time to do. I come home from work and there are shopping bags
everywhere. Alteast 20 bags full of clothes and shoes and stuff for the kitchen. I think it’s funny that I used to steal stuff all the time, yet apparently we have enough money to get new cars and go shopping for now reason. Then again I didn’t steal because we couldn’t afford what I wanted. I did it for the
thrill. To know I could still get the
adrenaline rush. To know that I was
alive. The free merchandise was a plus too. Why pay when you can just take? Well that drove me in a shithole. Can’t go to Wal-Mart for
two years. Haha literally, if I get caught in a Wal-Mart I will be violating my
probation and will get in a heap load of trouble. I’m sidetracking. Back to the topic. I get home, bags everywhere, I make a comment about it and I get an earful. Fuck off. I hate my family. It ended up being an ok night because Hannah and I went over to her friend Alex’s house and we watched Grown Ups. Pretty funny movie. After we went on drive till three in the morning. It was a lot of fun, and I’m pretty sure we were in just about every surrounding city in St. Louis. Daddy Dearest texted me at 12:30AM telling me not to come home so late, like 2:30AM or something like that. I got home at 3:30AM. Did he say anything to me about this the next morning?
Of course not.
I crawled in bed, set my alarm on my almost dead phone for work the next morning and fell asleep. I woke up this morning to my alarm.
*hits snooze* just 10 more minutes. I wake up
45 minutes later. It’s 9:51 and I was supposed to leave for work 6 minutes ago. I throw on a dirty work outfit, grab my work purse
(yes I have a purse just for work.. it smells like Subway) and speed to work. The owner’s boss tells me I’m late. Not sure if he’s kidding about me being 5 minutes late to work or not I respond,
“Yeah.. I know that. I’m really sorry”. I get in the back and the owner chews me out. I was supposed to be at work at 9AM not 10AM.
Fuck. I apologize about a thousand times, promising her it will never happen again. It was a sincere mistake. Plus it was the first time in 6 months I’ve ever been late. I do morning prep in a hurry. I cut my finger.
Fuck. I get prep done in 45 minutes. It usually takes about 2 hours. About two hours pass and I’m up on the line making sandwiches for customers. As I pass along a foot long sub with about 400 grams of carbs on it, the toaster oven goes off. I turn to get the sandwich and a sharp pain runs through my right leg. My coworker just slammed the fridge door on my leg. I’m bleeding.
Fuck. I clean it off and slap a band aide on it. I look like an idiot with all these band aides on me now. Oh well.
I get home. There’re more bags. My family went shopping. Again. I don’t comment about it this time. I just make my lunch and go straight to my room. I call Hannah. We are supposed to go shopping after her and her mom get back from shopping. A few hours roll by. Hannah texts me asking if her mom should just drop her off at my house. I say no because I have homework to do now and that we will just go shopping later this week. I look at myself in the mirror. I look gross. Full stomach, greasy hair, runny makeup. While I’m in the shower Hannah calls. She said she’s coming over in half an hour to do English homework. I tell her okay. We just mess around online, watch
Glozell on YouTube, then go to Alex’s to watch Dexter. Then I got home and made myself something to eat. My mom yells from the other room not to eat all or her lettuce. Ok. I put the lettuce away after eating one leaf. Shouldn’t she be happy I’m eating at all? I shouldn’t eat her lettuce? Who made it her lettuce anyways? My dad’s the one who bought it. Bitch. I make a stir fry which I know had too many calories. And then go to my room to write this German essay that was due 2 Mondays ago. I find myself checking my blog, and I know I need to post. So here it is. Sorry for the novel. Weigh-in tomorrow if no one’s home in the morning. My dad’s going to Chicago early tomorrow morning, again, so hopefully he leaves before I wake up. Does anyone else find it weird that my dad travels to Chicago a few times a month? It’s like 7 hours away.. I mean I know the company headquarters that he consults for is up there, but that’s why God made telephones. And Skype. Sometimes I just want my dad to hug me and tell me everything will be okay. Sometimes I want to know I’m more important than his work. As the months go by and he gets more and more wrapped up in his work, my childhood seems to be replaying itself. Dad gone for “business”. Mom at work. Mom taking care of little brother. Sarah has to grow up. Much, much too soon.
Yesterday’s Intake:
B: Turkey Omelet thing (156)
L: Steak Salad (319)
D: None (0)
Burned off: (543)
Net Cals: (-68)
Net Carbs: 19
Today’s Intake:
B: Steak stir-fry (268)
L: None (0)
D: Pork stir-fry (219)
Burned off: (271)
Net Cals: (216)
Net Carbs: 12.8
So now I have to decide if I want to write that German Essay, or read your blogs.
Guess which one I'm going to pick.