...or, better known as the last unmarried thirty-something renter in Southie...
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
"You look great!" was the first thing the nutritionist said at my appointment this morning, and I realized that a lime green dress against tan shoulders and a little yoga go a long way to hiding the fact that last night at 1:30 I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, hunched over a laptop, eating cheese sticks and Craisins and not in the least trying to sleep and not having an excuse not to, except for that craving I get most nights at 11 for an intangible that isn't food, although I like to throw food at it, which is just silly because Craisins (or cinnamon sugar by the spoonful or microwave popcorn) don't cure exhaustion or an undisciplined habit which, if I admitted it, only makes the craving worse because a tired girl who is forever tired might come off as a desperate girl who doesn't (know how to) make choices to make her more appealing, more chillaxing proactive, more forgiving, more focused, or more truly wanting to end it.
She rents an apartment in a neighborhood of trendy condos.
Her bike is vintage Raleigh. Her car is from 1991.
The cat's litter box is next to her bed and she doesn't own a dresser.
She likes to make fun of herself.
Occasionally she runs marathons.
And yes, she has to wear glasses. Contacts are not an option.