Please Don’t Go

Psst. Hey. You. Yeah, you Megan.

Oh, hey Blog. What’s up?

“What’s up”? Seriously? You ignore me for three weeks and then you’re all “What’s up?” like nothing is wrong?

Well I..

You what? You’re too busy?

Yes. I am very incredibly busy! I have A LOT going on right now, Blog. I’m sorry. It’s crazy busy at work (January and BOOM! Everybody wants to get healthy!). Not to mention we have this new doc that’s come on and nobody knows what they’re doing. AND we’re hiring someone to take my place so I can MOVE to Austin. I’ve been working like…10 hour days, Blog. And weekends!

Sure, sure. But really? I mean, 10 hours a day – that still leaves like 14 hours to show me some love?

I know. I know that things have been weird with us lately. I’m just so tired and my days are so boring, I have nothing to really talk about, you know? I wake up, go to work, my patients suck, I have ‘senioritis’, I’m hungry and sleepy all day, then I go home and stare at the tv for an hour. End day. My life is really dull, you don’t want to hear about that. It’s boring.

Pie

How do you know? Maybe I do.

Come on, Blog. I promise things will be better when I’m less stressed. Less tired.

But you’re not too tired to spend time browsing Pinterest and watching Seinfeld reruns are you?!

Oh, uh. Well, I mean it just helps me wind down at night, Blog. They don’t MEAN anything to me.

I SAW YOU WITH A GLAMOUR MAGAZINE THE OTHER NIGHT! AND IN THE BATHTUB NO LESS!

Shit. No one was supposed to know about that. I’m sorry, Blog. I really am. But I – I was thinking about you the whole time I swear! While I was reading that Glamour magazine, I was thinking about how “A Beauty Bucket List” is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard and how I don’t NEED Glamour’s permission to “Let it go to voicemail and then text them back”. Really, I mean, that’s fantastic writing fodder. It was all for you, Blog. Everything I do is for you.

Yeah, well it still hurts.

Hey! I’m trying over here! Somebody has to make some money to afford the lifestyle you require, Blog.

You don’t commit to anything!

I’ll commit to punching your face.

You’re flakey!

Fine, I’m flakey! I’M FLAKEY! I’m still going to punch you in the face.

You would never. Your ego depends on my popularity. You would never hurt me.

I know. I’m sorry, Blog. Please don’t go. We’re just going through a rough patch. Soon I’m going to move to Austin where I won’t have a job and we’ll have all the time in the world to discuss food and jobs and drinking and fun. I promise, Blog. I promise. Please don’t go.

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Oh Lately It’s So Quiet

Have you noticed that? The post-New Year’s drought of words of wisdom from this quarter? It’s not that I’m not diligently typing away in the back rooms of this blog, it’s just that I’ve only been able to produce vitriolic attacks on everything from cotton candy unicorns to fiscal cliffs because, honestly, I’ve been extremely angry at everything for the last two weeks. So much uncontrollable rage, but why?

Oh my god it's so gross I WANT IT INSIDE OF ME

SO GROSS BUT I WANT IT INSIDE OF ME

I’m simply hungry. Really hungry, all the time. Wake up hungry, go to bed hungry, with very little respite from hunger in between. Hungry in the bread basket of America, where I’m constantly reminded of how available Jalapeno Turkey Burgers are at Carl’s Jr., or that there are donuts in the break room every goddamn day. (Shut UP, Steve, I know there are donuts here! I sense maple glaze like it’s a disturbance in the force!) This is the kind of hunger that makes me believe I know EXACTLY what it must have been like in a Soviet prison camp.

No disrespect, but I FEEL like I feel you, bros.

YES, we’ve established I’m an asshole, YES this is all my own fault so I can’t complain or tell Steve to stop telling me about the donuts during these hunger games. Readers: I knowingly and willingly committed to a 30 day cleanse. Forgive me my sins.

Sure, I COULD claim I’m doing this for the hippie-dippy benefits: Health! Oozing out toxins! If you could only flip me inside out and see how clean my internal organs are! Lies, mostly. Anyone who has ever hung out with me over a weekend knows I have only contempt for my organs and treat them like garbage. When one removes eating form their daily routine, one finds a lot of time on their hands to think about their motivations. And here’s the terrible truth: I’ve got a black, gooey, throbbing tumor of female body issues and I HATE IT. But I’m getting skinny as hell and I fucking LOVE THAT.

Whatever holes in me were previously occupied by toxins are now filled with shame. How could this have happened? How could I have worked so hard and projected such a badass exterior of not giving a shit about girly crap like ass size and STILL fall victim to just wanting to be thin?! How?! Why?! Because of course it’s only a projection and patriarchy is internalized etc etc unrealistic standards of female beauty blah blah blah. So here I am thinner, yet feeling ever so hypocritical (and yearning so strongly for a donut it’s creepy). Food lust aside, is there anything worse than having to face your own abject normalness? Me and the rest of the world, we all have the same broken parts. .

But will staring at this conundrum stop me from finishing the next two weeks of this cleanse?

Probably not.

Because, you know, all the health benefits.