Only a dark cocoon until I get my gorgeous wings and fly away.
I'm at work and just itching to leave, as a whole bunch of us are going to see Cloverfield and there's nothing like seeing your city get pulverized while you're in said city. Also, nothing like a little 9/11-induced PTSD to get my weekend off to a rousing start.
I haven't updated because I've been too busy EATING. That's right. I polished off an entire can of Pringles two nights ago and last night downed two slices of pizza AND a tuna fish sandwich AND two small bags of potato chips. Delicious. As this is my last big lunch for god knows how long (hopefully forever), I had pad thai and chicken pan-fried dumplings for lunch and am salivating over the idea of fatty greasy popcorn at the fill-um tonight. YES!
In therapy on Wednesday, my therapist told me that I need to find a sponsor, even a temporary one, right away, as I'll be getting Vicodin for the surgery. (And don't tell me that I could just get Tylenol instead!) Who the hell am I going to find in this short time??? Any recovering addicts reading this? You need to have a lot of tough love, know that I'm totally manipulative and that I think I'm smarter than everyone else. Yeah. Prime sponsee material.
I had my "nutrition quiz" this morning with the NYU nutritionist. I scored 100% - no big surprise, since I read my info packets obsessively.
Nothing else to report of interest. Read a great book, "Candy Girl," by Diablo Cody and a not-so-great book, can't remember the title, by Paula Poundstone. She's great on stage, not so great on the page.
Yawn. This day needs to end.
What I'm reading: Confessions of a Carb Queen.