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2006-12-05 - 2:53 p.m.
Well, I think I've outdone myself.
This possibly equals the running at top speed away from my work colleagues who wanted to go for an after-work drink with me (I've got to face up to them on Friday when we have more training as a group. I didn't even say goodbye to anyone, I just legged it)
Well, yesterday was Monday and I woke up with a headache. I didn't want to go to work as I fucking hate the place. I went any way but comforted myself with the knowledge that I felt a bit shit and at any given time I could just go home. I didn't - I stuck it out and did a fair bit of skiving instead.
Well, TODAY I got up and started to get ready for work. No headache, felt ok actually. Walked around in my pants for a while, got washed, sat on the bed with my head in my hands, played with the cat then weighed myself.
That's the killer.
I weighed myself.
I haven't really mentioned it much in the diary but......well, I think it's an established fact that somewhere down the line I kinda went 'wrong' somehow and my brain, conscience, soul, spirit and logic all have arguments between themselves and I am a fucking mess. Somewhere along the line I ended up with an eating disorder which yeah, I manage ok most of the time. I've stopped doing lots of bad things and sometimes I even quite like myself (wow!) All in all, my insecurities and self loathing combine with my humour and as I pretty much like to laugh at everything around me I'm no tragic figure or anything, I'm probably pretty together as a whole. So that's ok.
Anyhoo, back to the weighing myself first thing this morning. Maybe it was too early for my brain to deal with the information, who knows? All I do know is that I'd PUT ON WEIGHT!
Yeah yeah, all the people dying and starving in the world and I'm obsessing about a bit of weight. Soz, I can be quite self-obsessed too but having my own diary of thoughts and shit should have warned everyone about that. So anyway, in a major huff I sent a text to my supervisor telling her that I was too ill to come to work.
Yeah, basically I called in sick with 'fat'.
Phoe was across the hallway in bed so I walked across in my really unattractive baggy underpants (I should have been a bloke really. I'd have had some sweaty 'nads to scratch at the same time then). I stuck my head around the door and she looked up at me.
"I've called in sick. I'm not going to work today."
"Blimey, have you still got that bloody headache? You alright?"
(....she looked quite worried as a few years ago I'd ended up in the emergency room with a suspected embolism or something. My Mother has already decided that something in my head will probably finish me off. Thanks Mom........)
"Yeah, I'm just fat."
".........fat, you say?...."
"Yeah, I weighed myself this morning and now I don't want to go in. I fucking hate the place anyway and now I'm in an even bigger bad mood so I called in sick and now I'm going back to bed and I don't intend to get up all day. I will get up when it gets dark again and then I will sit around the house frightening the animals...."
"..but you didn't tell 'em that's why you weren't coming in did you!" She asked in wide-eyed horror
"Yeah, I'm really going to phone in with obesity aren't I? Hello random receptionist answering the phone. I'm not coming in to work today as I've been up all night being fat....I doubt it would cut any ice."
"Yeah, but that's what you've done really, in effect, isn't it?"
"Don't try to blindside me with logic and reason, bitch. I'm going back to bed."
...and to bed I went.
Oooh, ooh, before I forget. I had a dream and if I tell you what it is and it comes true I might get rich selling my story to the cheap tabloids. I might even end up on crappy day time tv with stupid mystical music playing behind me.
Ok, the dream. David Beckham was walking down a catwalk doing some kind of modeling or something when someone shot him in the head. He falls over with a big cut to his brow and looks shocked. He's too stupid to get his head down and continues to look around to see who had shot him (and who might potentially shoot him again) whilst blood runs down his face. I seem to remember it was a really close shot right in the face but the wound was more of a deep cut to the side of his head. Who's crap enough to shoot someone point blank and MISS? Who knows but if it happens you read it here first!1 comments so far