This might be hard for some to understand, but I'm kind of weirded out right now. (Side note: spell check doesn't recognize "weirded" as a word. Random fact of the day). I have to go to the fancy GE Healthcare Institute tomorrow. (Second side note: although if you work for GE, you would naturally think that would be a place with a padded room where we all go brush each others hair and talk about what the bananas say to us, sadly, it's not).
So. I knew I needed a new suit jacket, so I killed some time at Macy's today while my cat Christopher was getting shaved. Yes I said shaved. He gets a lion cut. RAWR. So I looked around and tried on some. I ended up purchasing a size 16. Let's rewind for a second here. I started this journey at almost a size 24 pants. I just bought a SIXTEEEEEN. I can't even remember the last time I saw that number. And I'm just about in a size 18 pants. This means that I am 3 short sizes away from being a size 12. A FREAKING 12. I never thought that would be possible again.....
........here's where it gets all Crazy Town. (Remember? I'm the President. Also, I plan on ruining next Tuesday night's TV for you with my State of the Union address, just wanted you to know).
I get the fact that I'm down sizes. I sort of can comprehend that. I can SEE that I'm buying smaller clothes. But when I look in the mirror, I don't see it. I see my fat ass and my gut. And the same size I saw in the mirror when I started this, I still see. So it's kind of weird thing to know in your head that you really are smaller, but then to have that total body dysmorphia going on.
Excuse me while I go talk to the bananas.