I went to give blood today and I was turned away. My temperature was too high (max: 37.5/me:37.9) and my blood pressure was too high (118/42). The nurse had me sit to the side for 10 minutes because she said my gum chewing probably raised my temperature and I always feel my pulse quicken as soon as they strap that black blood pressure thing around my arm. 10 minutes later - I did even worse.
So, what does that say? Why am I still here? Why did I work for almost three weeks to lose four pounds only to gain two back yesterday because I ate too much. Spite. Fuckin' spite.
The story doesn't change. Change it already! God, I am so fucking sick of this. I need a job. I need to be around people. I need structure. I need a purpose.
And yet...
it's the same story.
Beverly, yesterday's tomorrow is TODAY!
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There is something else going on, too, and I have been back and forth about whether or not I want to comment on it. It's totally embarrassing but has been a part of my life forever. My shame. You don't even know me and I still can't say it. Because what if? What if someone that does know me finds this? I suck. Okay. Fuck. Just say it. Christ. I don't know if I...
Okay. I quit sucking my thumb the other day. Can you believe that? A grown woman who sucks her thumb. This is something that I have done for 38 years (and I'm only 37.5!)... since I had a thumb.
I was probably about five when I started hiding it - if not before. I remember thinking that I didn't have to quit until I was seven because that's when Cathy quit. But seven came and went. I tried to stop over the years but it was kind of like food, I guess... it was a crutch. It was a comfort. It was a habit. Eventually I just stopped trying to stop. I hid it, it was a secret (remember I told Stacey that I needed the right bed in Mexico? Because I didn't want her to wake before me and see it... I was turned the other way).
One thing that always made me laugh - but a sarcastic sad laugh instead of a laugh of pleasure - I lived with Karl for 5 YEARS and he didn't know. Fabian stayed over a million times and he didn't know. I lived with Ian for a year and he didn't know. How is that possible? No one knows except Debra and Julie; Mom and Cathy used to know but it hasn't been the subject of much conversation over the past 20 years or so.
Anyway, I stopped because I just felt it was time. And I really don't want to do it anymore - although I wonder if I am still doing it in my sleep. I will test it eventually. But I miss it. It's unbelievable how much. I crave it. I physically feel the loss.
And I'm a big fucking baby who always has an excuse. And nothing ever changes. Except now I'm a big fucking baby who has one less big fucking baby habit.
