As I sit here eating my first and probably only meal of the day (a bowl of popcorn and three powdered donuts), it occurs to me that I am not taking care of myself very well at all. I almost completely stopped eating after everything happened, because I couldn’t keep anything down. There was a period of maybe two weeks where I existed solely on Pepsi and Zesta crackers. I’ve lost about 10 pounds, which ordinarily would be a good thing, but not when it’s accompanied by dry skin, dull hair and loss of energy. Not to mention the fact that when I am stressed, I scratch my skin, usually either my forearms or my scalp, sometimes until I bleed. An unpleasant image, I know, but I do. I don’t realize I am doing it until either someone slaps my hand away or I start bleeding. I’m going to end up having to trim my fingernails very short, that’s the only thing that has stopped me in the past.
I’d already not been to the gym for a week or so prior to the heartbreak, due to a nasty bit of sickness that my son and I kept passing back and forth. And I haven’t been back since then. I need to go. I’ve been thinking that for days now, but I can’t quite work up the energy to actually do it. At least the thought is there, maybe that is a good sign.
Maybe in addition to my goal of trying to have at least one positive thought a day, I should add in something like “eat a vegetable”. Or “stop drinking so damn much Pepsi”. I’d almost kicked the habit, but boy I sure jumped straight back into it when the shit went down. I’m terribly weak when it comes to Pepsi.
I’m very nervous about my impending interview. I need to go shower and get ready, but instead I’m playing spider solitaire. Not a productive day so far. I’m going now. It’s a phone interview, but I still want to be fixed up appropriately. Definitely nervous. Ugh.