I am not well.
I am barely functioning anymore. Every day I haul my carcass out of bed, very unwillingly, and drag into work to do a halfass job- try as I might to put my full effort into it. I have been spending way too much time with my dear friend Netflix.
I am at turns anxious for ManThing to move in with me, and apprehensive. While I mourn the loss of "me time," I hope that his being here will save me from my disgusting after-work eating habits. I don't fix a real dinner unless he's coming over, choosing instead to subsist on corn chips and salsa. It's like I'm trying to eat away everything that has been bothering me. The 3:00 candy bar fix has become a habit. Needless to say, I am the fattest I've ever been in my life. My knees ache from the added bulk. I have Santa Belly. Buddhists could rub my belly for luck. I look pregnant. With a watermelon. Elastic is my friend.
I keep hoping one of the places I've sent resumes to will call me and save me from my job, even though I know it will be the same crap in a new package. But it will be new crap.