I cannot think of one single thing to write. It's already past midnight and I'm having a panic spiral about the fact that I need to go to bed, and I've started this post enough times to erode my self-esteem, to little avail. God I need to get a grip. ***
Number of times I've started writing this post over from the beginning: 12
Post attempt position at which my self-esteem began its steady decline: 3
List of things I would rather be doing than writing right now: Falling asleep on my vaguely masochistic Shakti Mat; literally anything, like literally. anything. Send help.
Number of times since hunkering down to write that I have gotten up to get just one more cookie: 4
Number of cookies I've consumed: 11
Times I've rationalized, "Oh well, at least they're organic": 11
Pounds I've gained--seriously--in the last two weeks: 7
Excluding myself, number of people who are surprised by this: 0
Number of times I've asked my boyfriend if I look fat during that period: 3
Number of times he's answered, "No, you don't look fat at all": 2
My boyfriend's third, final response: "Well, I noticed you gained a coupla pounds."
Number of fathers my child now has, given that I murdered the only one he did have: 0
Duration of time I intend to spend in mourning: Brb, checking etiquette.