This is getting ridiculous.
But you know what? I can’t stress or comfort-eat anymore. I mean, about the best I can do is be like, “Whoooo! I’m going to go all out tonight and have three graham crackers after dinner!” or “Oh, man, I’m *totally* going to live on the edge and eat a 1/2 cup of those honey roasted peanuts instead of a quarter cup!” Rockin’.
I’m also limited to one alcoholic beverage a day, with meals (maybe two beverages, if I eat some extra bread at dinner).
I don’t smoke. I don’t do drugs. All I shoot up is synthetic insulin.
Reading and writing are the only vices I have left.
Why do books have to cost money?
