Wednesday, July 2, 2014

L'orange

While a couple of weeks ago I had to force myself to take a break from the gym, this week it's not the same story.
Sunday... let's not talk about Sunday, that shit was a mess.
Monday, I forced myself to get off my ass and go to the gym. Once there, a dude in a bright orange shirt set up right next to me, and my hour of weight-lifting was spent fighting back tears. 

Is that you, you diving son of a bitch?!
I came home, showered, and watched the Germany game.
I haven't showered since.
I haven't left the house since.
It's a pathetic sight, really. My hair is in a bun, my left eye is a watery mess (I swear it's some sort of allergy. The pressure in that eye is off, I just know it), not a single ounce of makeup is on my face.
I've also been force-feeding myself. I'm dealing with that thing that happens to me when I'm severely upset-- angry or sad-- where I lose my appetite. I swear my esophagus closes up and any attempt to eat is practically impossible. However, I'm fully aware I MUST eat, so I sit at the kitchen table and stare at my food-- at some point I pick at it enough times to clean the plate.

But I swear it's back to reality tomorrow. I have a nice little story making me laugh, and therefore, forgetting how badly this whole World Cup shit has upset me.
What's the story? I've been invited to the bachelorette party of a girl who legitimately hates me... and this party is a small party of EIGHT (myself included)... where THREE of the attendees dislike me. Is it a set-up? Hell of reminiscent of mean-girl slumber parties where they invite the ONE girl they're going to torment all night... sorry for being paranoid, girl-power chicks, but that shit happens, and it happens often.
Fun, fun, fun.

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