6 am? Are you kidding me? I wake up at 5 and it’s a miracle I get coffee, walk the dog and a mile, and scroll through Facebook by time i have to get dressed at 7.
This is exhausting just reading it. I can’t imagine actually putting this much effort into just existing. People need to be grateful I have pants on let alone a clean shirt.
Meditate? Exercise? Exfoliate? Bitch, no. Do I want the body I had when I first thought I was fat? Hell yeah. Do I want it enough to eat kale instead of oreos. Fuck no. Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels? Bitch, your blood sugar is low. Eat a twinkie.
Maybe I’ll have time for all this when I’m not raising a future chef and paleontologist. When I’m not doing laundry, dishes, and dusting. When I’m not writing.
This is all good for self care. We all know you can’t pour from an empty cup. Whatever, bitch. I’ve been empty so long I’ve got cracks in the bottom letting anything poured into me leak out as it takes crumbs of me with it.
So, if this is your bag, baby, rock it. In the meantime, I’ll be over here eating leftover chicken nuggets from my kid’s dinner and hoping to get more than 4 hours of sleep and longer than 10 minutes in the shower.