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.