WTF?  I got on the scale again.  331 lbs.  I think the number is taunting me now.  I had a dream about being super duper fat, and woke up at exactly 3:31 am.  I turned on the television, and it was on channel 331.  I take my daughter to school this morning and a cop in the parking lot asks me “Hey, do you know where apartment 331 is?”  No, bacon boy.  I do not.

Granted, I was sick this whole week.  But still, I ate much less than normal.  I guess I’m going to have to start listing my food on these blog posts so you can all hold me accountable.  If everyone bitches at me every time I drink a sweet tea I’ll stop drinking them eventually.

I need to go to the gym so bad.  My metabolism is slower than a tortoise missing a leg to begin with, but practically nonexistent when I’m not working out.  The problem is that I feel like I got kicked in the chest by a half-retarded mule (I’m assuming a non-retarded mule would hurt much, much worse).  I’ve got so much mucus, my mucus has mucus.  On the bright side, if I come out of this sickness having not gained any weight, I should be able to shock my body into losing some based upon renewing my exercise schedule.

Maybe my scale is broken?  Yeah, that’s it.  Broken scale.

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