Right Back On Track

Okay, so go figure... After a couple weeks of no rationing, no legit exercise, and no purging, I've still managed to lose 2 pounds. I mean, I totally could have lost more if I hadn't subconsiously decided to lose control, but 2 pounds is pretty awesome. 123.5 is a much prettier number than 128.5 pounds. I will never, EVER be that again. When I get old, I want to be beautiful and still able to wear cute shoes and classic clothes. I won't be one of those C.J. Banks grannies... I'm very proud of myself, and to treat myself in a non-detrimental way I am currently brewing some of this anti-fatty tea. It's almost like a laxative, I think... I'm not even really sure what it does. I should probably learn. Psh! Too much work! Anyway, I need to start working out so I don't gain that "skinny fat" sort of body when my weight is where my goal is set. That would totally suck. Weight isn't so important. It's that fragile, helpless look that I crave so, so, so much. I will be a porcelain doll.

I have a collarbone again. It's beginning to be lovely once more. It curves smoothly, and starts to hide itself behind my shoulderblades. It's curving like my smile. The more it curves, the more I smile, and the more I smile, the more it curves. It's a symbiotic relationship that is currently in my favor and the favor of my happiness. My fat is a paracite. It wants to feed off of and live off of my beautiful bones. This is where I put my foot down. NO. MORE. I will fuck it into submission. It will run away with it's lipid tail between its cellulite-legs and hide beneath my beautiful scale, never daring to come out and show it's ugly, grotesque self in my mirror again.