someone please remove my boobs

(NOT YOU, CANCER. YOU STAY AWAY FROM ME. I MEAN IT! DON'T MAKE ME USE MY SPECIAL JUDO SKILLZ ON YOU, BECAUSE I WILL!)

Oh my GOD. So? My upper back/shoulder/neck aches? For relief, today, I have taken 2 Aleve (not at the same time), 4 ibuprofen (all at once), one 5mg Valium, applied a (nursing-home-fragrance-free) Aspercreme patch, put a lumbar-support pillow behind my back, and tried like hell to sit ramrod straight, and it STILL feels like there is a metal spike through my right shoulderblade. Fuck a duck.

Just…ugh. I want them REDUCED. I want to be a 36-C like I was almost all through high school. My senior year I was up to a D. Now? I am, like, a triple D or an F or an E or something crazy like that. THIS IS NOT NATURAL, nor is it ATTRACTIVE. Augh. No woman was built to hold this big of a shelf. Maybe a man could, though.

Seriously, y’all. They are killing me. They are murderous mammaries. Terrible ta-tas. Barbarian boobies.

See? See what they are doing to me? It is CRIMINAL.

I’ve no stories. I stayed up until the late hour of 8 p.m. last night, and by 8:30 I was in a trazodone-induced coma. Next Monday, I have another appointment with my drug pusher (shrink)—actually he’s more of a drug keeper-awayer, and there’s no reason for that BECAUSE I CAN STOP ANYTIME I WANT TO—and I’m hoping he will bump me from Concerta to Adderall and then I can really start dumping some of this weight and maybe live to see my nephew graduate from kindergarten.

Also? The scale I bought less than a year ago? Sucks. Because I weighed myself three different times (like, get on, get off, get on, get off, get on—GRAH) and it took like a minute to decide each time, and each time, it decided on a different number. Each number was below the freakishly scary number that every fat woman dreads she will reach (I will not mention it here, due to the incredibly large—no pun intended—embarrassment factor), while last time I was at the shrink’s it was 8 pounds OVER that number, so I know I have lost at least ten pounds, possibly sixteen. I am hungry as all hell but I have NO appetite. Everything sounds gross. Even cheeseburgers. EVEN TACO BELL. Seriously. I have not had fast food in 32 days, and I’ve hardly even been tempted to get any since I started the Concerta.

I just ate dinner and now I am nauseated. Blargh.

I have to start on the new Reid calendar. Looks like I'll be spending Friday digiscrapping. Oh, well, I only have to do twelve of them, right?

Time for nighty-night. Because five a.m. always comes too soon, much like a teenage boy.