Comfortable With Conformity

Sept. 17th

My computer has been broken for nearly 3 weeks! Of course, I can use the computer at work but it's not the same. I now work part time-- only 20 hours a week, because the travel industry is taking a beating due to the attack on Tuesday, and since I work at a travel magazine, this affects me directly.

Anyway, here are all the diary entries I wrote in the past 2 weeks. I would've uploaded them sooner, but I forgot the diaryland password:


More tales from the workfront.

I just spent the last three hours of my life sitting on the floor,

filing. I have lint all over my black pants. There are two huge

drawers crammed with files, and I

finished one of them. Big fucking, annoying files, like inch-thick

Japan press kits and packages of slides.  .

I am thinking of asking Rick, the boss, what I should do now, but


afraid he's going to assign me some more busy work. I'm *trying* my

best to look busy. So basically, I'm sitting here


for two more hours.

Aside from being fat again, I love my life right now. I may not

*love* waking at 7:30 am, but I'm in heaven when I come home.


like watching TV and eating seem more relaxing, instead of boring.

You know that feeling you get when you're home all day, you

feel fat, you're on the computer way too much and you have nothing

to do? That's how I felt every day of my life before I started

working. Even though this job is proving to be dull, I'm out of the

house, I'm WORKING, which is a BIG deal. My therapist will be so


I have a loose tooth. It's actually a lose half-tooth, way back

near my molars. I bit into a PowerBar last week and my tooth

cracked in half. It didn't hurt, but it felt strange. So I've got

this loose half-tooth hanging out in the back of my mouth, and I've

been wriggling it around everyday. It's the same tooth I had

root-canalled. There's a wasted $800.

This diary entry is actually three days worth, since I am writing

this over the course of three days, so now it's Thursday, 1:50 pm,

and I'm sitting at my desk, doing nothing. I asked Denise and Matt,

my superiors, if they had anything for me to do, and they both said

they're think of *something*, but for now I've got nothing to do.

It's been like all week. i actually count down the hours to go home

on a little yellow Post It I have stuck to my monitor. When I come

into work I write 8, then cross it off after an hour and write 7,

and so on. When there's less than 1 hour to go, and I count down

the minutes.

I'm actually sitting here in a loose pair of size 10 jeans. SIZE

10. Soon, I'll be shopping at Lane Bryant and Avenue, those stores

for fat women. I'm conforming to the relaxed dressed code around

here, lounging in jeans and plaid button down. I won't wear

sneakers, though. Some people here actually wear sneakers. To the

office. Ridiculous.

And in other petty news...

I was just reading The Speakeasy, Jimbo's forum. if I may be so

bold, what a fucking steaming pile of shit. Nothing against anyone

in particular, but the forum is even worse than UK was. It's like,

these people write whatever the hell is on their mind at the moment

and beg for replies. Like, someone will write, "I ate a bran muffin. It

was good. hehe." and someone will respond, "dude, that's cool. i

like bran cereal."

It's 4:35 and I'm itching to leave. I've got a permanent knot on the right side of my back, due to poor computer posture and crouching down to file for hours. I swear, this job is going to fuck up my back good. I'm daydreaming of a Wendy's Mozzeralla Chicken Sandwich after work, even though it's something I normally don't eat. I've been trying all week to really buckle down and workout and eat right, but work exhausts me so much, I just want to eat big Cadbury bars, crawl under the covers and watch The Golden Girls after work. Comfort food, comfort TV. I don't know why I've had this overwhelming feeling to be comforted lately. There's nothing really wrong. I just can't seem to get back into the workout swing.

second entry

Does anyone remember this song from an M& Ms commerical:

"it's Friday, the weekend's just begun...and M& M's chocolate candies are part of the fun"? I always subconciously sing that to myself on Fridays, partly because I love Fridays and partly because I'm insane. I love how I can appreciate Fridays now. When you're not working or going to school, everyday is a weekend. It sounds good but it's horrible.

I'm here at work, it's 3:45. I have an hour to go. I am doing nothing. A lot of people have gone home to start their 3 day weekend early. I'm a little confused-- when are you allowed to leave early? I thought you work 8 hours, no matter what. My three superiors have left, so there's no one to tell me what to do. What were they thinking? I would leave, but I'm afraid of clocking out because I'll be an hour short.  I'm sure it won't matter, but it's just one more hour.

Sept. 6th

I'm tired. The kind of kind where you want to crawl into bed, get under the covers, and sleep forever. Unfortunetly, I'm at work. My eyes are struggling to stay open. I actually shut my eyes for long periods of time, leaning against my arm, so I look like I'm awake to anyone passing by. I'm learning how to use File Maker Pro, which is a database program.

Like all adults living in the real world, I am beginning to hate my job. I am given very tedious, mind-numbingly boring work to do. I also get dizzy when I first get to work. Have you ever had that extremely sleepy feeling when you can't focus your eyes on anything? That's how I was this morning. Keeping my eyes open took enormous effort.  I actually propped my chin on my elbows and faced the computer with my eyes closed, giving everyone the illusion that I was reading. I bought M & Ms for sugar, but they didn't help. I got up and walked, but that didn't help either. At about 11 am I could focus my eyes again.

Speaking of M & M, I have become a disgusting junk food addict. I get so tired and so hungry at work that I am always counting out 65 cents from my wallet and heading towards the vending machine for candy. I actually went to the vending machine THREE SEPARATE TIMES today. First I bought M & Ms, then a 3Musketeers, then a little bag of Famous Amos cookies. I didn't mean to be such a swine (S's favorite word for me), but I needed the sugar! I have to get smart and start bringing in low fat snacks. If I don't watch myself, I'm going to be wearing size 13s soon.

Sept 11th

My dad has some weird habits. Or maybe I shouldn't say "habits", but "annoyances". Like, the way he drives makes me NUTS. He has the habit of stomping on the break way too hard, causing the car to lurch forward. I think his reflexes are not so good. He'll see a car break way ahead of him, and he stomps furiously on the break. Not only does this drive me crazy, it makes me naseuous. It's the same when another car merges into traffic. Even when he's in the adjacent lane, if he sees a car merging into the lane NEXT to him, he'll slow down.

Another thing he does is get all intense and lean in really close when I'm talking. He isn't hard of hearing or anything. He just gets this intense look on his face, furrowing his brow, paying really close attention, as if what I'm saying is extremely important, even if it's only "let's go to Wendys".


I really miss my computer. I miss coming home, a glass of soda (NOT Pop!!!!) to my right, and checking my e-mail, then the diaries. S has had my computer at his house for nearly two weeks. He's fixing it. There's something wrong with it, he doesn't know what. When you turn it on, it won't start up Windows, that's all I know. I realize by the time this entry makes it to my diary, I will have my computer back, reason being because I'm writing all my entries and e-mailing them to myself because I don't have know the password for diaryland on this computer. I'm at work, my unshaven legs peeking out from short Old Navy gray pants, drinking a Caffeine Free Diet Coke, listening to the radio. As I'm writing this, it's the day those buidlings got hit by the airplanes. Sorry I'm vague, but you know what I mean. Everyone on the radio, TV and in my office is acting like it's a tragedy and they can't believe it, and this day will live in infamy, blah, blah, blah, but I think people secretly LIKE these kind of things happening. It's exciting and gives us something to talk about, providing a common bond. I'm not discounting the of grief families who lost their loved ones, but for the rest of's all just a great big hubbub to chat over. I just wish I worked in a federal buidling so we could go home.

Life has been good, not great. I found myself moping on the weekend, sleeping almost all of Saturday, partly due to taking my Zyprexa in the morning, and partly because I love to sleep. I don't know if it's depression, but in the last few months I have really started to love and crave sleep.  I love making myself comfy in my bed (lying on my side, to the right, my butt sticking out) and falling into a deep slumber. You know what's the best feeling in the world? Waking up on a non-work day on a freezing cold day. Getting out of bed and opening the front door to check the weather, and getting a chill. This is something only a Floridian can understand. It rarely drops below 70 degress here, so when we get a cold front we revel in it. Waking up when it's below 60 is blissful. I can't wait until until it starts to get cold. We had a wickedly cold winter last year, so cold I wore a COAT. It was so cold we had to run the heat. Cold, sunny weather makes me so happy I'm having a hard time articulating's that feeling you get when you hear your favorite song on the radio, when you get an unexpected A on an exam, the pleasure you feel when walking into a Disney park. Cold weather is so fresh...I guess when you're used to 10 months of hot, sticky tropical weather, it's just downright refreshing to get cool, dry air. The dry air makes my hair gorgeous-- long, straight and shiny, better than any beautifician can make it. Everytime the temperature drops, my sister and I give each other knowing glances which mean, "It's going to be a good hair day."

Oh, I worked out Sunday AND Monday. I'm very proud. I was being such a fucking lazy fat ass swine these last few months. I really am ashamed. I bought those giant cadbury Fruit & Nut bars and ate the whole thing in one sitting. But Sunday I broke the cycle and got ON the cycle (hehe, I'm so witty) and clocked 45 minutes of aerobic exercise and 15 minutes of Abs of Steel. I went through my "thin clothes" with wistfulness. My dark blue, only-worn-twice Old Navy size 4 jeans, my black Tommy Hilfiger size 5 pants, my size extra small black dress. I found a pair of shorts I've actually never worn, size 5. Jean shorts with a little blue drawstring at the waist. I couldn't believe how tiny they were, and how I was able to fit in them before. Did I really fit in those? I must have, or else I wouldn't have bought them. God, I was hot!

Sept 12th

I am sad about the terrorist incident. I will miss seeing the twin towers in the New York City skyline. I feel bad for the the people who died, especially the passengers on the planes. Can you imagine? It's scary enough to fly, but to be hostages in the air?! That's my worst nightmare.

My parents WON'T LET ME GIVE BLOOD. Is that not retarded? They're afraid I will get too weak. Well, duh, you're supposed to get weak, and then you're fine! They're like, "you have to give a whole PINT of blood" and I said, "yeah, that your body replenishes itself" but they think giving blood is insane. Last year, I would never have considered giving blood voluntarily, but I've had my blood taken twice this year, and I'm pretty much desensitized to it. You hold out your left arm, look away, wait a few seconds, and it's done. It's easier than giving a urine sample. But no, my sister and I are banned from giving blood, and I'm not going to argue with my parents about this or go behind their back. I'm not *dying* to have a needle stuck in my arm for the sake of my country anyway. I will donate clothes and shoes to the United Way, though I'm not sure what they need with clothes and shoes...I heard on the radio that they need those things. Their work place was destroyed, not their homes...don't those people own clothes and shoes?

I weigh over 140 pounds(141)! I'm 5 ft 3! Don't tell me I'm not fat. EVERYONE tells me I'm not fat. I wear size 9s! And 11s! I am wearing size 10 Gap jeans right now. I feel excluded from the thin girls of the world, the girls who thumb casually through the size 3s and 5s in the jeans rack. I don't feel part of IT. IT being the world of thin, pretty people. And yes, I equate thin with pretty. If you think fat is pretty, you're demented. There's nothing pretty about shopping for plus sizes (which I've never done, by the way. I've never surpassed the size 10s), or squeezing into jeans that won't go past your hips, or sucking in your gut when you meet people. I hate fat women who stand up for their fatness, claiming that they're "fat and proud". Bullshit. No one is fat and proud. I'm sorry, it doesn't exist. When you carry extra weight, you *feel* it. You feel it when you walk, when you're thighs are brushing against each other. You feel it when you're so out of shape that you can't make it up a flight of stairs without getting winded. You feel it when you sit down and can't cross your legs.You especially feel it when you see someone you haven't seen in a long time, and they do a double take when they look at you, or when a special occasion is coming up and you can't fit into any of your dresses.

When I was little, I was very skinny and envied chubby girls. I remember wistfully looking at a couple of chubby teenage girls, wearing big T-shirts and leggings, and thinking how well they filled out their clothes. I looked pointedly at my own clothes, my oversize T-shirt hanging on me, my leggings loose. I didn't "fill out" my clothes properly. I felt incomplete, being so skinny.

It wasn't until the 9th grade that I realized I was gaining weight. My tight stretch jeans were getting tighter around the waist. I discovered my stomach was bloated and round, not flat like other girls'. I was ashamed of my stomach. I couldn't wear the half-shirts that were so popular in the early 90s. Bikinis were a slap in the face.

It wasn't until my sophomore year of college that I became obsessed with my weight. I remember going to a drug store, wearing gray sweatpants that were tight around my thighs, and weighing myself. I was 138 then. I was in total shock. I hadn't weighed myself for years, but I figured I was in the 120s, certainly no more than 125 (which I thought was a lot). But I was nearly 140! Soberly, I went home and resolved to get skinny. I had never been so determined to do something in my life. I started a weight loss journal and alloted myself 1200 calories a day to consume and at least a half hour of aerobics daily. After a few months, I lost 28 pounds. I was scrawny. I could easily wear my sister's clothes (which were tiny size 3s). My head, in comparison to my body, look huge. I had to wear sweaters in the summer because I was always freezing. I was your classic anorexic, but I didn't realize it until years later.

When I stopped getting my period, I got concerned and started eating everything in sight until I got it. Five pounds later, my period returned like clockwork. I stopped obsessing about my weight and slowly became fat again.

Knowing what I know about eating disroders, there's no way that could happen again. In a way, I miss it, because having an eating disorder is almost admirable. You need an enormous amount of drive, resolve and willpower to starve yourself. You get this tremendous sense of satisfaction when you go to bed each night, hungry, knowing that you ate  X amount of calories and did X amount of exercising. And when the pounds come off and the clothes get looser, you feel proud. And then people start to notice your weight loss and compliment you, and it just fuels you to keep losing more. Being in total control of my body was the biggest high I've ever had. I felt strong.

So, I understand girls with eating disorders. There's nothing more empowering then taking control over your body, resisting food, and losing lots of weight. The only thing keeping me from becoming anorexic again is that I know you can't *stay* anorexic. Sooner or later, when your period ceases, you have to stop. You stop because you're too cold all the time, you feel weak often, you look weird in the mirror. And then you binge. I binged often, but never threw up. I remember one night, months into my diet, I was at a friend's house, and I had my first binge. Of course, at the time, I didn't realize I was bingeing. I just thought I was cheating on my diet. I ate some pizza, some brownies, some ice cream, and some more pizza, brownies and ice cream. I must've consumed like 2000 calories that night. I didn't gain a pound. I was too far into my starvation diet for one binge to make a dent in my weight. The day after, I felt guilty and went back to starving myself. And weeks later, I binged again.

I learned, much later in life, that bingeing is a symptom of starvation. I didn't think I was starving myself with my 1200 calorie diet-- I thought 1200 calories was an adequate amount. Many womens magazine say 1200-1500 calories is perfectly fine. Can you believe that?!  It's really more like 1800-2500. In my case, I probably consume 2000 calories a day, but I don't keep count. I'm just guessing. I also do at least 45 minutes of some kind of aerobic exercise a day. My body is ok with this arrangement. Months ago, when I was thin, I weighed 128 and wore tiny clothes. 128 SOUNDS fat for a 5 ft 3 person, but I assure you I was very thin.

So, now I'm fat again and am hurridly trying to get back to where I was. But I won't starve, I won't binge, I won't do the Atkins diet and eat eggs all the time. I won't become an obsessive calorie counter. I'll lose the weight, I'll get there, and I will look back at this journal entry and smile.

Sept 13th

The boredom at work is unreal. Are all jobs like this? At least, when I worked at Pizza Hut and things go slow, I could fold boxes and chat with co-workers. I have no one to talk to here. Everyone is in their little cubicle.

Sept 14th

I'm tired. I'm so tired I nearly fell asleep a couple of times driving here to work. My eyes just kinda shut at every red light, and then I had to snap them back open.

I'm not reading someone's journal anymore. I'm not going to say who's journal cause that would just be nasty. I cannot stand to read this journal, it's so full of crap I wince each time I glance at it. It's like self-inflicted torture. Was I that annoying at 16? Was I that obnoxious, self-centered and full of shit? Maybe I was, who knows. Maybe if the internet had been around in '92, I would've been writing some snotty, self-absorbed online journal. Maybe I would've used my online journal to prove how sexy, smart and cool I was to cover up how ugly, stupid and dorky I was in real life.

I'm wondering whether or not the Big Brother people know about the WTC.

I was just called into my boss' office, and he asked me to shut the door. He said there was a problem, and i was afraid he was going to say, "You've been goofing off all day, and we're gonna have to let you go", but that wasn't it. He said, because of the tragedy on Tuesday, there would surely be a recession and the company had to "trim back the fat". I guess I'm the fat. No, he didn't fire me, but he reduced my hours to twenty a week. I was half upset and half happy. Upset for obvious reasons, happy because this job is boring as hell and less time here means more time working out at home. It's kinda cool, cause I can work any twenty hours I want, like 9-1 or 12-4. And I can still look for other jobs and have time to go on interviews. In a way, it's the perfect part time job-- good pay, flexible hours, and in a field that i want to be in. Unfortunetly, I need money, and I was counting on that $1200 a month.  A thought just occured to me: I can work with Steven again. I'll bet anything Sue will hire me again to tutor, and I can work from 4-6, like I did in the past. I've never worked two jobs before. My parents will be so proud.

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