Homecoming.

November 28, 2009

The Return Trip

 

            I’ll be lucky if I’m the same weight I was when I left. Scratch that; it’ll be miraculous if I am. I’m not going to get my hopes up and think that “Oh, I lost five pounds by stuffing myself with cookies and turkey!” I’m. Not. Stupid.

            Since I already threw my life away, I’m contemplating making it worse and getting a bunch of awful shit from McDonald’s on the way. I already had a handful of peanuts, cocoa, and water, and I’m feeling sick to my stomach. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. I hate driving I get carsick.

            Just saw a really sad sight: A forest behind a cleared field with Bobcats and dump trucks and all that sort of stuff. Like damn. Why you gotta do that?

            I’m cold. That’s good. You burn more calories when you’re cold. Fuck, I don’t want to be back up to 176 or 180. Fuuuuckkk. Maybe only a hamburger at McD’s. I’m gonna play Spore to burn some time.

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            I just had a pizza from Pizza Hut, which may or may not be fewer calories than what I would’ve gotten at McDonald’s (two double hamburgers, 9 piece chicken nuggets and a large sweet tea. Fatass.). Who knows.

            If I had internet right now I could check calorie counts. If I were home right now, I wouldn’t be forced to eat this shit by my parents. Ughh.

            I just want to be home so I can puke this shit up. But it’s too late now. Tomorrow and the rest of tonight are fasting, liquids only. Fuck it all. I want to be hoooommeee.

            So it’s funny, because my grandma is apparently giving my cousin T all this awesome jewelry. All I ever fucking get from that bitch are stupid books and poetry. It’s like, FUCK I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR PUBLISHED POEMS, AND I HONESTLY COULD CARE LESS. Like, one Christmas, my Aunt A gave my other cousin B this really pretty ring, it was pink and sparkly, and I think it came with matching earrings. Same aunt gives me fucking pictures frames. In reused boxes. Because she “didn’t know what I would like.” B and I are a year apart. When you’re ten and eleven, there isn’t much difference in what girls like.

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            Two hours till we’re home. I’m typing with one hand, as I have a grande Caramel Macchiato in the other. I think I’ll watch Sex and the City again.

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            Home. Pissed. Fat.

            On the shitty side, I only gained one pound over Thanksgiving break. On the shittier side, I can’t stop eating. Something in me just takes my hand and shoves it into the bowl of trail mix. Then takes it and shoves it in my mouth.

            All my friends hate me. C is being a fucking bitch for no reason. I did absolutely nothing to her. It’s what I wouldn’t do for her. If she wants to be in fucking stage crew she can get off her ass and ask the director when stage crew meets. It’s not my job to baby-sit her, right?