Checking myself into rehab
2004-03-01 @ 12:19 p.m.

I'm a fucking moron. I completed pigged out during the Oscars last night--and it was premeditated too. I went fatty food shopping for the big night. To me the oscars are like the Superbowl, and that means snack city. It was kind of sad, the last time I watched the Oscars I was in london chilling with OhRomy...this time I was at home stuffing cheetos down my throat by myself.

Tonight's the night I start fatty rehab (AKA weight watchers). I still need to check the times to make sure there's a meeting tonight. I'm kind of excited in a weird way.

I was going through my closet this weekend--seeing what stuff fits, etc.-- and I had a box of fatty clothes that i've grown out of. I was going to donate them to goodwill, but my mom said to take the box to the basement "just in case." what the fuck? I know that losing weight isn't guaranteed and that I can't afford to restock my wardrobe in the event that I should have a fatty relapse--but it sort of upset me. It's like you have a family member who's given up crack but then you go "hey sweetie, why don't we just keep your crackpipe--you know, just in case."

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