Well, it's official. The girl who can't ever technically be my psychologist because we're best friends has finally decided that it's time for me to be involuntarily committed into an institution. We all knew it would happen sooner or later, but I never thought it'd be for this reason.
In fact, I will let her use her own words in explanation - from an email I received this evening:
"I just saw a picture of you on your blog. You need to eat. I could 302 your tiny ass, you know! Go eat. Anything. Just eat."
Just so you know, I am not underweight just because I currently weigh less than I did when I lived with you and you somehow made me eat every three hours, even if I wasn't hungry. I also fit back into the pants that I popped the buttons off of senior year. Remember those? I still have them. I can even put things in the pockets of those pants, like I could when I bought them.
But, let this be a lesson to you, J. If you don't live with me (like you should), then I return to my former (normal) weight. So, in short, I blame you for my skinny ass.
Sue me, I'm a social eater. Otherwise, food isn't as interesting as most of the world seems to think it is.
End Blog.
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