Fuck it. I've just about had it with dieting. There once was a day, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, when I could eat the caloric equivalent of an overturned ice cream truck in one sitting, go outside and play kickball for twenty minutes, come back in and polish off half a barnyard. And there was always room for jello. Always. Now, I'm in my early forties, deep into self-loathing on a bite-by-bite basis. Pasta and I had such wild times in the eighties. Now we can't even look at each other.
Posts
