Moaning manky me

Stop reading now. I'm warning you - there's moaning afoot. Fuck. And bad language. Double fuck. I haven't weighed myself in over a week. I haven't tracked properly for longer than that. But I have managed to get my fat arse off the couch to go to the supermarket and buy shit food. Potato chips, dip, easter eggs and peanut slabs*. Fuck fuck fuck. Why is it that I can reach out and pick something off a shelf while fighting back tears with the thought of eating it? Damn self service checkouts allowing anonymous binging. I don't think I'd be able to face a checkout operator. I can't even face myself.

I'm home alone again this weekend and then D is picking his daughter up on his way home tomorrow night for a week of the school holidays. I don't want to be here. I want to take my sleeping bag to work and curl up under my desk so I don't have to deal with a grumpy pre teen and paste a smile on my face pretending everything is AOK. Reason 15 why I don't want my own children. I'm fucking selfish: It's my party, I'll cry if I want to.

* I blame my father. He refused to let me have a bite of his when I was child and then made me 'traffic' huge boxes of them to Australia when I visited him as a teenager and still refused me any. And called me 'Tubs'. Yes I have issues.