I am a total stress eater. I’m pretty sure I’ve eaten about 72 Oreos since I got home from work. It may have actually been like 10 or 12, because there are usually only 30 in a package (It’s ok. I already feel ashamed of myself for knowing that without needing to look it up). Do not ask me to calculate the number of calories, because I already know they surpassed the “I hate myself” threshold.
Being pissed off tends to set off my desire to eat. It’s like I go, “Yeah, I could out all my rage into something constructive like exercise, but it’s more fun to devour this (insert food that is really unhealthy) and pretend I am biting the head off of whatever dick-headed fuckface deserves my white hot rage at the moment.”
The funny thing is that my workplace is about 3 buildings away from a gym… a gym I just freaking joined 4 days ago with the idea that after work I would throw this white hot rage into giving my pasty white ass a smoking hot body. Yeah, I already failed my first test on that. Score one for the motherfucking Oreos.
I know I am trying, and I think that is what keeps me from being a maximum level bitch. Am I going to keep failing? Most likely, but at least I haven’t given up. There’s so much more to life than failure, and my stubborn ass is sure as hell going to figure it out.
On that note, I am going to cut this one rather short. I am tired from having to be up way too fucking early. Seriously, 3 am is a ridiculous wake-up time. Why am I crazy enough to agree to it, again? Oh, right. I’m poor and can’t be too choosy.