It's a Friday night and I am already home from work. Bad for my wallet, good for my soul. I drove home with the intentions of pulling into my driveway, unlocking my front door, putting my purse down, taking my work shoes off, coming into my bedroom, opening up my closet door, grabbing a shirt, throwing it on, fixing my makeup, and spending a night out on the town drinking with my wonderful fiance. I am currently paralyzed at the step that involves opening up my closet door and grabbing a shirt. Nothing looks good, nothing fits well, everything is either too dressy or too casual, so hence I retreat to laying on my bed typing on my laptop in jeans and a bra and don't even feel like getting ready to go out. I'm the walking definition of a bummer. It's my weight gain that's the route of a lot of this, this whole not going out a lot, because I don't ever feel like I look nice, because my clothes don't fit as well, so therefore I don't feel good about myself, and don't feel like leaving my house. It's logical, it makes sense, and yet I cannot stop myself from being the bottomless pit of hunger that I've become lately. In reality I've gained back ten of the sixty pounds I lost of the fourty pounds I gained throughout my pregnancy, three years ago. It's just math. Anyway, needless to say, I don't even feel like getting dressed and going out. I suppose it's pivotal moments like these where my decisions count. Should I stay or should I go now?... Alright, I guess I'll give the closet another once over. A little makeup, a little hair styling.. maybe I'll force myself to leave the house.
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