This morning was a great morning because the new scale dipped under 170. I sometimes think it does that on purpose. Somehow the scaale knew I just wrote this whole thing about weighing a million pounds. And then, what, two days later it's completely where I thought it should be. Hating an inanimate object is such a waste of time. I'm pissed that I let myself get really upset about it when I didn't need to. What's worse is I knew I didn't need to get upset about it, like I knew I didn't need to get on the scale in the first place having spent my morning eating and drinking and making merry. Making merry of a morning is fun and all but not so much when you need to step on a scale to check in with your self worth.
It's starting to get old, the ups and downs of my mood being tied to a digital readout. Ten, size ten. Why, why, why can't I just take that joy and run with it? It's pretty damn awesome. Matt tried to reason with me, and that's the reason he used. He also said, more than a little sheepishly, "doesn't ones' menstrual cycle sometimes add false weight?" That's clearly an Amy-fied version of his words, but, there was something very clinical and please don't yell at me about the way he said it that I wanted to convey. Did it work? There's something about the use of "ones'" that just says "don't whoop my ass because 'ones'' could be ANYBODY".
In other news, completely irrelevant and unrelated news but oddly parallelled in hypocrisy to this post, the old site is back up and running. Have you been yearning to know how much of an ass I was in college, yearn no more. The link is in the sidebar. Proceed with caution, or atleast brace yourself for the bastardization of grammar.