Holymotherfuckingshit.

Please excuse my French.
Oh, wait, I don't speak French anymore.


But holymotherfuckingshit.

I woke up this morning, feeling crappy as I usually do the day after a bad day.
The scale showed 155.0, and I wanted to cry. I got it down to 154.8 after peeing and such, but I still wanted to cry- it was higher than yesterday's weight!
So I had water for breakfast.
A chocolate milk and a Tootsie Pop for lunch (delicious).
And I'm about to go c&s my dinner of a turkey sandwich and Cheetos because, after my run, I am

153.6
(on my scale. My parents' scale claims 151.6)

I'm ONE FUCKING OUNCE AWAY FROM MY GOAL.
ONE FUCKING OUNCE.
HOLY SHIT.
IF I DON'T EAT DINNER, I'LL PROBABLY BE 152 TOMORROW.



But I have to eat something tomorrow.
Fuck me, I'll eat breakfast.
But after I take the SAT (for the second time), there will be no more eating. I will go buy my green-striped tube socks, go for a run, take a shower, do my hair pretty (but not like I tried), and go play some motherfuckinggoddamn Quidditch.

Because that's what 153.6 pound badasses do.

Now excuse me while I go masticate and expectorate my dinner.