crappity crap crap crap

I feel so dizzy. I slept almost all day yesterday thanks to Nyquil. Now I feel positively drunk and dizzy and blah... I have nothing worthwhile to say. I'm still hacking and sniffing but I feel better, despite the dizziness.

I did manage to get up yesterday to go to class in the freezing, freezing, freezing cold. Like the semester, the battle for my soul has begun. So far the Methodists are winning - they were smartly giving away free hot chocolate and apple cider, compared to the inedibile pamphlets offered by Christians on Campus (whatever demomination they are). I'm waiting for the religious sect that gives away Diet Mountain Dew... the Dew Disciples I will call them.

I postponed my appt today with the counselor because I'm sick. I like having lost my voice because people are sympathetic. Whenever I say I'm sick, I have a sneaking suspicion that people suspect me of faking. But since I sound like crap, everyone I talk to says "hope you feel better soon."

Today I had a bowl of chicken noodle soup from Subway with one million crackers and a whole bunch of crack balls at work (see picture).

I'm going to post more about the asshole I'm in love with. He's an asshole purely because he doesn't love me. That is his only crime. He is the sweetest, kindest, smartest and most gentle person I have ever met, and therefore I am sure he will never love me. I don't deserve him to love me, and I obsess over this fact almost as much as I obsess over him in general. But lately my love has been fading because of his lack of attention. I think that's actually quite healthy.

I forgot to mention I met a fantastic man the other day at the vet. Well I didn't really meet him as much as I saw him and petted his puppy a whole bunch. This guy had a very different look than most guys around here, ie, he looked intelligent and like he might be interested in something besides football. I don't think he looked me in the eye once however. I hate being invisible.

Speaking of, I need to start working out. I think tomorrow morning is too soon, unless I wake up completely cured.

I stumbled across another bulimia blog tonight. Actually, it's the blog of a bestselling author, and she is publically admitting to struggling with bulimia:

Post baby, I wrote a novel featuring a bulimic alcoholic. I am not an alcoholic, but I am a bulimic. Even so, I did not admit it to the many readers who asked. I could not bring myself to believe it. Fat women didn't have eating disorders, did they? I was more willing to admit I'd slept with a woman in college and based the lesbian character's love scenes on that than I was able to confess to having an eating disorder.

Read the whole thing at: Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez: La Queen Sucia