I'm sitting in my lovely air conditioned living room watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch and eating Cheetos with my little sister. Rachel has agreed to help me get back on track with my life by hanging out with me this afternoon. After this episode we're going to sit down together and make a list of entertaining things I can do during the day that don't involve eating. Not quite sure how well that'll work but it's worth a shot.
Anybody ever heard of Winter the dolphin? He's the latest craze with the kids at camp. Scientists designed Winter a fancy prosthetic tail after his real one was ripped off during an incident with a crab trap... now he's famous. My campers spent literally half the day huddled around the computer watching him on a live webcam from the aquarium in Florida.
I'm feeling depressed. Maybe tonight I'll start taking my meds again. I've been putting it off because I think a part of me likes all this bingeing and sleeping and bingeing and sleeping without blame. Somehow I feel like since I'm illicitly off medication there's an excuse or a reason for the behavior and it's not my fault. Does that make sense? The reasoning I mean, not the actions.
A few minutes ago I ran downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water and I ran into my dad, who said Dr. Biteme says hi. I thought he was kidding so I just said haha. But he was like, "No, mom and I really did just have a meeting with her."
"Oh. That's really weird. Huh. Weird..." And then I trailed off because I started imagining my parents and my therapist having a conversation. Mom and dad squashed down into her scratchy little couch that sits only like six inches above the floor, while she towers above them in her swivel chair, exposing horrid secrets about the inner workings of my twisted mind. DEVIL WOMAN! Anyways, I guess he felt uncomfortable about it too because he didn't respond, and instead started awkwardly rummaging through the fridge for something. He pulled out a rotten tomato from the back of the vegetable drawer and offered it to me. I laughed and said no thanks.
"You sure? They're pretty good when they're soft and wrinkled."
"That's what she said."
Anyways, almost dinner time. Maybe I'll throw a frozen Trader Joe's pizza in the oven. This Cheeto I'm about to eat looks a lot like a distal finger bone.