Maybe someday I’ll lose weight and make a million dollars a day and save all the dogs and help my family and run a marathon (this somehow seems the least likely to me) and watch my own show on TV and save the planet/reverse climate change and travel everywhere on my list.
The least likely one of those is actually lose weight. I don’t know why. I probably don’t care about it all that much. When I’m tired/bored/anxious/sad/annoyed/tired again/any other feeling, food seems like the only thing that makes me feel better at all.
Day 123 – Weighed Down
A Year to Grieve 