This morning I stepped on to my new scale, naked and with an empty bladder and the result was 252 exactly. So, now I know what I’m up against and it’s the official number I will start with.
Right now, the main thing I am trying to do is a.) not gain, and b.) add healthy food to my diet. For now I’m going to weigh daily — if I don’t do that on the day that I skip it, I’ll throw it all alway and not step on that scale again. I know myself pretty well.
I came straight home from work today. I don’t always do that because I often stop at my parent’s house to eat with them or just hang out for a bit. Coming straight home is nice. I am still not quite used to the feeling that this place is all mine. I even like its messes. I have all the windows open now to air out the place. Today I walked in and said, “Honey, I’m home” to no one.
I’ve considered a pet. I’d really like a dog. But I’m just not sure I can afford one. Also being gone for nine+ hours a day isn’t fair to a dog. I like cats, but they’ve damaged my homes in the past so I’m probably not going to go that route.
I didn’t move into my house until after Christmas. It was a very long search for a home that I could afford and could imagine living in. I’m still not sure I can afford it, to be honest. And I don’t have window coverings on two windows still. I’ve got a little bit of savings, but I’m afraid to let it go too low. I’ve got no one to rely on if I have an emergency. Plumbing or a roof issue, for example. Oh, I’m a two minute drive to my parent’s house and a 9 minute drive to work, which I also love.
As a natural born worrier I could spend a lot of time worrying about the what if’s, but to be honest I enjoy being here so much that I don’t fret about it too long. This place is mine — it’s not his. Very little of what I own now reminds me of him.
When I began to unpack all of my belongings after 3+ years in storage I found myself cursing the ex because he packed all the boxes for me — he would not let me back into our apartment since it was already his love nest. I had to trust he’d give me things I’ve had long, long before I ever met him. I have found that two kitchen knives I’ve had for 15 years never made it to me, and the toolbox he packed for me was nearly empty. That made me pissed because my dad had given me a lot of what was in there. The list is long, and that’s only the stuff I can remember.
I was feeling super pissed about all the stuff I now knew was missing. Eventually I had to remind myself that I wouldn’t want that stuff now that it’s been part of their household for so long. One of the last emails I sent to him was expressing my anger about what I was missing. He wrote back asking me another question, not addressing my concern. I never responded to him again. Fuck them both. I’ve since blocked his phone number so that he can’t message or call me.
My heart is broken again today. As a lover of all things British I saw late last night how a 24 story apartment building in West London with over 300 residents was consumed by flames within fifteen minutes. Women were throwing their babies out the windows. The fire started on the lower floors. The people in upper floors couldn’t get out. People on the grass below heard their screams. Of course it is because it was a low income building. No one cared that it wasn’t a safe building. They have no idea how many are dead, but it will be a lot. Why, God? Why?
Londoners came out to help house and feed the survivors. Londoners are great at that. But this is so horrifying — I simply can’t imagine experiencing that. What good are “thoughts and prayers” anyway?