“Needles” is an extremely funny word, now that I think of it. Anyway. Are you afraid of needles? I would have been in some major trouble today if I were needle-phobic. So I was supposed to get my blood drawn — I had nine tubes to fill. My veins are pretty easy to find, and so I’ve never really had a problem like this before, but I currently look like a drug addict. Not kidding — I have track marks. He used no less than seven needles — all different types of needles. He even tried to start a line on me! For all that, we got a tube and a half out of the first needle, and nothing after that. This is kind of freaky. I have no idea how to explain it. But I went back to my doctor’s office and told them what happened and that I needed more tubes. I didn’t say I wanted to take out stock in tubes, but apparently that’s what they heard, because this is what they gave me:
I wonder why this leads me to believe that they are anticipating further problems in this area. Hmmm.
Totally random picture. Romaine, peppers, mushrooms, sprouts, croutons, tofu, raspberry vinaigrette… um, it’s kind of hard to toss that, as you can probably well imagine. And of course I’m on a Berry Crusade.
I know I usually post these types of photos at the beginning… but to be honest, I wasn’t even going to post it at all. To exacerbate an already-uncomfortable situation, my stomach was not very happy today, which consequently makes me rather unhappy. Plus humidity = bloating. Yeah, not exactly the makings of the greatest day in terms of body image. I took these photos because I really do love this babydoll top, but I spent the entire day wearing a hoodie over it because I just felt so self-conscious… and I actually had a rational thought relating to this, believe it or not. I say that I am mortified to go out in public when I “feel fat” — but really, that makes no sense, since the one I’m most ashamed of is myself, and I’m there even if I don’t go out. So. Isolating = not a solution. Moving on.
Like I said, I wasn’t going to post these photos. I had every intention of just deleting them and pretending they never existed, because, well, in my alternate universe denial works that way? No clue. But then I came home and looked at them again, and I realized that I might feel fat, I might think I’m fat, but I’m actually not fat. (“Fat” is starting to sound weird, too — words tend to do that when you use them too much!) And you know what? … Even if I was, that’s just too bad. None of that should matter, because it should not be who I am. (This could easily segue into a whole philosophical muse about who / what I really am, but since I have no freaking clue, and because I am — surprise! — tired, I won’t go there just now. But it does beg the question… how can I dislike myself so intensely if I don’t even know who I am??)
It was full of this … insight that I went to get weighed. And honestly? I was horrified and disgusted and all that jazz. Which I’m finding sort of difficult to understand, given my revelations. Truthfully, I am more than a bit freaked out that it is never going to stop. Although I’m just a little distracted by the fact that my stomach is still very angry with me. The feeling is mutual. Now behave!
Anyway, after that long and senseless and unrelated ramble… pictures. (I am, clearly, not very skilled at photographing my back. My bad.)
The boatneck top that I’m wearing underneath the babydoll is from Victoria’s Secret. I love it — I have it in black and in white, and I have another T-shirt from VS too… they are SO comfortable that I just went and ordered it in two more colors, plus another babydoll-style top. Because, you know, I have NOTHING to do with my money but buy more clothes that I don’t even need. And I am cringing at the thought that I actually bought shirts that aren’t babydolls… form-fitting! Agh!
I’m actually trying to formulate a way to say what I want to say here, but it isn’t working, so I’m just going to give up and lug myself away… I’m feeling very confused and conflicted. Obviously.
Enjoy your Tuesday!