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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CEMCSXk4eCp7ImA9WxBSGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469</id><updated>2009-12-27T17:21:08.730-05:00</updated><title>Chunks of Reality</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>173</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/ChunksOfReality" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>ChunksOfReality</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C04HQHk-fip7ImA9WxNVGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-8012498539908533243</id><published>2009-10-30T12:58:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-30T12:58:51.756-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-30T12:58:51.756-04:00</app:edited><title>Happy Halloween!</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;My husband remembered my birthday around 10:30am yesterday. He then brought roses to me at work with a card. It was nice to see him and the roses were beautiful. He also ordered a cake for me which we enjoyed last night.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;My daughter was acting like a strange bird yesterday. She never said anything about my birthday and when I asked her about it, she said that she kept remembering it was my birthday and then forgetting and doesn&amp;#39;t know why she didn&amp;#39;t say anything about it. In the past she has forgotten, but this time to know that she remembered and didn&amp;#39;t say anything is very strange to me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;She didn&amp;#39;t act like herself yesterday at all. I asked her if everything was OK and did anything happen at school and she said that she was fine. I could tell that she did feel bad about not saying anything about my birthday. It&amp;#39;s just so weird the way she acted. I really don&amp;#39;t understand.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I&amp;#39;m still celebrating my birthday. I love that it comes right before Halloween. I always squeeze more days out for my birthday every year. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I&amp;#39;m excited about next weekend because my best friends from high school and I are going out for my birthday. I went ahead and told my family that my birthday doesn&amp;#39;t end until November 7. :)&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Tonight my daughter is babysitting and won&amp;#39;t be home. My husband and I both have homework to do, so I think that we will just lay in bed and do homework to get it over with. Tomorrow night my daughter is going to her boyfriends house to pass out candy with their family. My husband and I will be passing out candy at our house. I always enjoy doing that because I love seeing the little children in their costumes. My favorite costumes are the little bumblebee and ladybug babies.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I hope that you all have a wonderful and safe Halloween weekend. Thank goodness the time changes and we get an extra hour this weekend!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-8012498539908533243?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/rJqV8tZ3MOM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/8012498539908533243/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=8012498539908533243&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/8012498539908533243?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/8012498539908533243?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/rJqV8tZ3MOM/happy-halloween.html" title="Happy Halloween!" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/10/happy-halloween.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU8BRng7cSp7ImA9WxNVGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-5264105366595389342</id><published>2009-10-29T10:50:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-29T10:50:57.609-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-29T10:50:57.609-04:00</app:edited><title>Happy Birthday to Me</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Today I am 38 years old. Having Facebook is nice because I woke up this morning with a load of birthday wishes from a lot of people, which was very sweet. I received a text from my ex-husband with birthday wishes as well. This morning I saw my daughter and husband before leaving for work and neither of them said a word. It&amp;#39;s now 10:31am and I still haven&amp;#39;t heard from my husband. My daughter called me this morning from school asking if I could bring her blue binder because she forgot it and she never said a word about my birthday. Maybe they have plans for tonight and want to act like they forgot? I&amp;#39;m not sure. If they did forget though, I need to get them both a Facebook account so that it will remind them next year.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;This entire week I have been in a depressed funk. Thankfully, today I feel better and am happy at this birthday present from depression. At least it&amp;#39;s not tormenting me as badly today.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I apologize to everyone for not posting responses to your comments in my blog. I receive them all via e-mail and wish that Blogger had a way that I could reply to the mail and it would post a response back. My laptop is almost dead. I sit and wait for 15 minutes just to power it up and load Internet Explorer or Firefox. I need a new laptop badly and try hard not to use it. It&amp;#39;s really cut down on my Internet time. I do check others blogs on my cellphone, but it&amp;#39;s really not the same.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Hopefully, the birthday fairy will bring a new laptop to me tonight. :) I highly doubt it, though!&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-5264105366595389342?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/00GClDbK3EI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/5264105366595389342/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=5264105366595389342&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5264105366595389342?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5264105366595389342?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/00GClDbK3EI/happy-birthday-to-me.html" title="Happy Birthday to Me" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/10/happy-birthday-to-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYFRXo-eip7ImA9WxNVEkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-1282029000413365488</id><published>2009-10-22T16:25:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T16:25:14.452-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-22T16:25:14.452-04:00</app:edited><title>Oh, to be Skinny...</title><content type="html">&lt;div&gt;Today on the elevator at work I was riding up with a very skinny woman. She must have been in her 40&amp;#39;s. I stood there and thought to myself how lucky she is to look like that.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;I&amp;#39;ve lost seven pounds so far. Just under 250 finally and feel that getting to 160 will take forever. It is a huge mountain to climb. I fortify myself with raw vegetables and I am tired of it. Why does it have to be so difficult?&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;My husband and I still haven&amp;#39;t had sex. I don&amp;#39;t even know how long it&amp;#39;s been now. At least six months? He says that he wants to now, but I just can&amp;#39;t after what he&amp;#39;s said about my weight in the past. We talked about it last night and I cried myself to sleep. &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;We talked about what he said in the past about my weight &amp;quot;changing the sexual experience&amp;quot; for him. I asked him to explain more and he said that for him sex is a physical act and not emotional like it is for me. He said that the actual mechanics of having sex are different now and not as comfortable because I have more weight on my body. From a rational perspective, I understand what he means. From an emotional state, it destroys me.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;What gets me is that he looks at porn and masturbates to it. I know that he does. He really doesn&amp;#39;t need me. He has told me in the past that he prefers masturbation anyway. I don&amp;#39;t know for sure, but I&amp;#39;m pretty positive that he masturbates to porn at least once a day if not more. I feel so disgusted with myself that I don&amp;#39;t masturbate at all. I have been horny lately but I do nothing about it.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;He said last night that he feels really bad about the way I feel. He said that he wants to be honest because I kept asking him in the past why we weren&amp;#39;t having sex but that he also feels that he can&amp;#39;t or shouldn&amp;#39;t be honest with me in the future about stuff like this because of how badly it hurt my feelings. He says that he feels like he is &amp;quot;paying&amp;quot; for being honest now. I completely understand that as well.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;He said last night once again that we need to go to a counselor to talk about it. He really is pushing the counseling, though I haven&amp;#39;t made an appointment yet. &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;He has been feeling better physically and mentally lately and has been quite nice around the house. It&amp;#39;s times when he is feeling good and isn&amp;#39;t stressed out and full of anxiety, being angry all the time, etc. that I&amp;#39;m happy to be together....except for the underlying problems that are buried quite deep.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;I told him last night that even if I lose weight and we do have sex again that I will feel having sex with him is conditional and that if I gain weight again, he won&amp;#39;t want to be with me. He said that sex isn&amp;#39;t conditional with me and that he doesn&amp;#39;t want me to feel this way. I told him that I work (am the breadwinner) and provide for the house and bills and try to be a good wife and mother and feel that I&amp;#39;m still not good enough for him. I feel that I have to be perfect in every way for him to be interested in me sexually. He said that it&amp;#39;s not true.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;I really don&amp;#39;t know what&amp;#39;s true anymore other than I feel very ugly.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-1282029000413365488?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/qCXo3JvE7U8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/1282029000413365488/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=1282029000413365488&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/1282029000413365488?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/1282029000413365488?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/qCXo3JvE7U8/oh-to-be-skinny.html" title="Oh, to be Skinny..." /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/10/oh-to-be-skinny.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUCQ3YyeSp7ImA9WxNXGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-976140755658139027</id><published>2009-10-07T09:31:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T09:31:02.891-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-07T09:31:02.891-04:00</app:edited><title>Dog Food - A Constipation Aid</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;My husband has been having a lot of digestive issues lately that include horrible bloating, extreme constipation and then diarrhea along with horrible cramping. This has been going on for the last two weeks and he has been utterly miserable.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;He&amp;#39;s from Morocco and hates going to doctors and taking medicine. When he went to the doctor twice in one week I knew that he was near death. Not to mention all the different medicines he has been trying as well.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The other day he called while in the doctor&amp;#39;s office. He was filling out the form where it asks your history and he called to ask what medicines he&amp;#39;s been taking because he couldn&amp;#39;t remember them all by name. I told him that he&amp;#39;s been taking Miralax, an enzyme supplement, Beneful, etc. He asked how to spell Beneful and I spelled it out for him and we got off the phone.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The next morning he came into the bedroom while I was getting ready laughing and said, &amp;quot;I can&amp;#39;t believe you had me write down &amp;#39;Beneful&amp;#39; on that form yesterday. I said, &amp;quot;Why? That&amp;#39;s what you&amp;#39;ve been taking&amp;quot;. He said, &amp;quot;No, I just fed the dogs and saw &amp;#39;Beneful&amp;#39; on the label. Beneful is a dog food! I&amp;#39;ve been taking BENEFIBER!!!!&amp;quot;.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;We laughed our butts off about that. He said that they must not have noticed because the nurse or doctor didn&amp;#39;t even comment about it. He said that if they noticed it, they would have said, &amp;quot;No wonder you&amp;#39;re having such digestion issues...you shouldn&amp;#39;t be eating dog food!&amp;quot;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The last few days with him have been better. He&amp;#39;s up and down as usual, but mostly up which is good. I think he feels better about going to the doctor and trying to get help for himself. They want to do a colonoscopy but it hasn&amp;#39;t been scheduled yet.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I am doing alright. I&amp;#39;m just tired all the time as usual. I am tired of being tired. I got to work a bit early this morning and can hardly concentrate on what I need to get done. What I do is so technical at times and you have to be in the right frame of mind to do it. Writing this post is easy peasy because hardly any thinking is involved. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I start school again on October 12. I&amp;#39;m not looking forward to one of the classes because I think it&amp;#39;s going to kick my bum. I&amp;#39;m very worried it will mess up the 4.0 GPA. I don&amp;#39;t know why I care about that damn GPA. It&amp;#39;s not like anyone will ask me what my GPA is when finishing university.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;There is no segue to the next subject. I was reading CNN last night and saw that there is a practice called &amp;quot;crushing&amp;quot;. It&amp;#39;s where a woman is videotaped crushing a small animal (like a rabbit) with her bare foot or wearing a spiked heel. The woman&amp;#39;s face isn&amp;#39;t shown, but it&amp;#39;s some type of sexual fetish. I was floored to say the least. Have you heard about this? Are you as shocked as me?&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-976140755658139027?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/cFXnpGXe8oI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/976140755658139027/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=976140755658139027&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/976140755658139027?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/976140755658139027?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/cFXnpGXe8oI/dog-food-constipation-aid.html" title="Dog Food - A Constipation Aid" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/10/dog-food-constipation-aid.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIFSHo7eCp7ImA9WxNXF0s.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-9187943309174571454</id><published>2009-10-05T13:25:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T13:25:19.400-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-05T13:25:19.400-04:00</app:edited><title>Gas in my Tank</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Last Monday I weighed myself and was a whopping 253.7. I&amp;#39;ve been eating like a rabbit since then all the while wondering why I was doing it because I was convinced that I would never lose weight again. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Today I weighed and am 248.8, which is five pounds lighter! Yay! You have no idea how happy I am. I haven&amp;#39;t been under 250 in such a long time. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;This news is like putting gas in my diet tank. I can keep doing this and I will. I am finally motivated because I see a difference. Before I was just losing faith in myself.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-9187943309174571454?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/-jCDUVQARXw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/9187943309174571454/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=9187943309174571454&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/9187943309174571454?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/9187943309174571454?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/-jCDUVQARXw/gas-in-my-tank.html" title="Gas in my Tank" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/10/gas-in-my-tank.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUNRHs8cCp7ImA9WxNXE08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-5558737941012736449</id><published>2009-09-30T11:58:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-30T11:58:15.578-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-30T11:58:15.578-04:00</app:edited><title>I am a Rabbit</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Right now I am crunching spinach leaves. This week I&amp;#39;ve revamped what I eat and now eat the following each day:&lt;/p&gt; &lt;ul&gt; &lt;li&gt;2 cups of raw spinach&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 cup of raw carrots&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 cup of raw cucumbers&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 cup of raw green peppers&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 cup of raw tomatoes&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 cup of raw soybeans&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 cup of some other bean like garbanzo, black bean, kidney bean, etc.&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 cup of fish (salmon or tuna)&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 or 2 hard boiled eggs&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 apple&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;1 pear&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;2 cups of green tea&lt;/li&gt; &lt;li&gt;A lot of water&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt; &lt;p&gt;I love vegetables. Don&amp;#39;t need to add vegetable oils or dressings because they taste great by themselves.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;The only bad thing I&amp;#39;ve had each day is one iced coffee from Starbucks. I want to stop doing that soon. It&amp;#39;s just my one indulgence right now.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;My body has been revolting with the change. It always does at first. I&amp;#39;m sure it will go back to normal soon.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;What I wouldn&amp;#39;t give for some pasta and bread though. I&amp;#39;m not a chocolate/potato chip snacker. My downfall is bread and pasta. I love milk as well, but am not drinking that either right now.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I checked and it&amp;#39;s 1105 calories a day. I thought it would be less for some reason. I didn&amp;#39;t realize how many calories garbanzo beans have and won&amp;#39;t be eating those anymore. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I&amp;#39;m crunching a carrot while asking myself why it has to be so difficult. I also ask myself if it&amp;#39;s worth it. I weighed myself Monday and was 253 pounds. I will weigh again next Monday to see if I&amp;#39;ve lost anything. I really want to weigh myself now but realize it wouldn&amp;#39;t be a good idea. The only reason why I want to weigh is to experience instant gratification because right now this is so difficult. At the same time, if I do jump on the scales and don&amp;#39;t see progress I&amp;#39;ll want to rip my hair out and scream in frustration, so I&amp;#39;ll just wait. I think someone has a blog called, &amp;quot;Wait to Weight&amp;quot; or something like that. I completely understand what they mean now.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-5558737941012736449?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/h_VNt-AutvQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/5558737941012736449/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=5558737941012736449&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5558737941012736449?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5558737941012736449?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/h_VNt-AutvQ/i-am-rabbit.html" title="I am a Rabbit" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-am-rabbit.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4ERH49fip7ImA9WxNQGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-604389384823136835</id><published>2009-09-26T01:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T01:28:25.066-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-26T01:28:25.066-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Daughter" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Pictures" /><title>Junior Pics</title><content type="html">Here is my girly...I love her so very much!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QOvrWZA4Tyc/Sr2mUPKGavI/AAAAAAAAAJM/yXHqezhGcXQ/s1600-h/11th+Grade+Pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QOvrWZA4Tyc/Sr2mUPKGavI/AAAAAAAAAJM/yXHqezhGcXQ/s320/11th+Grade+Pic.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-604389384823136835?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/KLejZCXKRDY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/604389384823136835/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=604389384823136835&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/604389384823136835?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/604389384823136835?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/KLejZCXKRDY/junior-pics.html" title="Junior Pics" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QOvrWZA4Tyc/Sr2mUPKGavI/AAAAAAAAAJM/yXHqezhGcXQ/s72-c/11th+Grade+Pic.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/09/junior-pics.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04NQH4-eCp7ImA9WxNQGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-6796349169696651810</id><published>2009-09-25T16:19:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-25T16:19:51.050-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-25T16:19:51.050-04:00</app:edited><title>Horny as Hell</title><content type="html">&lt;div&gt;I go from being completely depressed to completely horny. I haven&amp;#39;t had sex in over four months now!&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;I am sitting here at work and can hardly stay sitting in my chair because I want to fuck so badly. I apologize for being so rude, it&amp;#39;s just that &amp;quot;fuck&amp;quot; is the most applicable word. I don&amp;#39;t want to &amp;quot;make love&amp;quot; or even &amp;quot;have sex&amp;quot;. It&amp;#39;s such a primal urge that I&amp;#39;m feeling and it&amp;#39;s terrible!! &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;My husband now says that he wants to have sex, but I don&amp;#39;t want to. I think that is a pretty safe thing for him to say now since I don&amp;#39;t want to with him. Who would want to have sex with someone who considers you fat, obese and horrible? Well, he never said &amp;quot;horrible&amp;quot; or &amp;quot;fat&amp;quot;, but he DID say &amp;quot;obese&amp;quot; and that it &amp;quot;changes the sexual experience&amp;quot;.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;That&amp;#39;s a real turn-on. &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;That really puts me in the mood.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;I can imagine the whole time we&amp;#39;re doing it I&amp;#39;ll be thinking terrible things about myself in my mind and imagining what he&amp;#39;s thinking the entire time.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;It is torture to think about.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;So, I don&amp;#39;t want sex with him.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;But I do want sex....NOW.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;I am really angry with him. Very angry. I don&amp;#39;t think I&amp;#39;ve said that before. It&amp;#39;s gotten to the point that when he talks I think the word, &amp;quot;asshole&amp;quot; in my mind. It&amp;#39;s just second nature now. &lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;We really need to go to a counselor, but we haven&amp;#39;t yet because I&amp;#39;ve been taking my daughter to counseling and it cost $45 a pop and she&amp;#39;s going once a week for right now. After her appointments lessen in number over time, we&amp;#39;ll start going.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div&gt;If we&amp;#39;re still together by then....UGH.&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-6796349169696651810?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/Tq-1s4O-UIk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/6796349169696651810/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=6796349169696651810&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/6796349169696651810?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/6796349169696651810?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/Tq-1s4O-UIk/horny-as-hell.html" title="Horny as Hell" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/09/horny-as-hell.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYERnk_eip7ImA9WxNQGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-5488818118110184776</id><published>2009-09-25T13:27:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T01:31:47.742-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-26T01:31:47.742-04:00</app:edited><title>Sing Me to Sleep</title><content type="html">I'm tired and I want to go to bed....&lt;br /&gt;
Don't try to wake me in the morning cause I will be gone.&lt;br /&gt;
Don't feel bad for me.....&lt;br /&gt;
I want you to know...&lt;br /&gt;
Deep in the cell of my heart I really want to go.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;This song from the Smiths keeps echoing through my brain. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just want to go to bed and never wake up.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I realize this is the depression digging deeper roots. It really doesn't want to let me go. At least someone (thing?) likes me, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am at work. Haven't missed any time. I am trying to manage. Don't want to repeat this vicious cycle.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am a hamster in the wheel of depression....and a fat one at that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-5488818118110184776?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/SjCRhI_jdcE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/5488818118110184776/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=5488818118110184776&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5488818118110184776?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5488818118110184776?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/SjCRhI_jdcE/sing-me-to-sleep.html" title="Sing Me to Sleep" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/09/sing-me-to-sleep.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUMRHk8eip7ImA9WxNREE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-6412310456413885951</id><published>2009-09-03T14:41:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T14:41:25.772-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-03T14:41:25.772-04:00</app:edited><title>At an Impasse</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;I bought another pack of cigarettes even though I threw away the other pack I had last week. I&amp;#39;ve had a few of them and am sick of smoking them. I hate the smell of them, hate the way I smell after smoking them and while smoking them wonder what the hell I&amp;#39;m doing. I just had a cigarette at lunch and am back at my desk wanting to throw the pack away. Why do I keep doing this? I guess it boils down to cravings and felt I had to have a cigarette and bought a pack. I just realized while typing this. I lack discipline. This is why it&amp;#39;s good to blog. You sometimes realize things about yourself while seeing it typed out or visitors to your blog realize it for you.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I wasn&amp;#39;t hungry today at all and got lunch anyway. I had a salad because I thought I would probably get hungry by the afternoon and then would be stuck. I should have not eaten a darn thing. Now I am so full I feel sick and once again realize that I lack discipline.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I am getting bigger and bigger and bigger. My clothes are restricting while I refuse to buy larger ones. I look like a whale shark. I feel like a stuffed pig. Just give me an apple to stick in my mouth and call it a day. It will suit my physique just perfectly.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Two days ago I mowed the front and back yard. My muscles are still complaining from it. This morning I could hardly get out of bed and walk because my muscles were screaming with pain. That is how out of shape I am....I can&amp;#39;t even cut the grass. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;My knees hurt while walking and I get out of breath. I am getting hot all of the time because of the stores of fat all over my body. I feel like I breathe heavily while sitting because my lungs don&amp;#39;t have enough room to expand with all the fat cells squashing them down. Even my eyelids are fat.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;While typing this I got a granola bar out and am munching it. I&amp;#39;m full! I don&amp;#39;t need it! But yet I do. The more I talk about my weight the more I want to eat. I just want to eat until I&amp;#39;m so full I pop and this shit is finally over.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;It&amp;#39;s funny really because I normally don&amp;#39;t eat a lot at all. I&amp;#39;m not one of those comfort food eaters. I don&amp;#39;t eat candies, chips or cookies. I don&amp;#39;t eat granola bars. It&amp;#39;s just lately I am so focused on my weight that I feel like an alien to myself and for some reason want to eat. It reminds me of my days of bulimia. When I was a teenager I would eat loads of food and vomit it up so that I could eat more. I would eat 10 bowls of cereal, throw up and eat 10 more, throw up, eat 10 more, etc. until all of the cereal in the house would be gone. I was skinny then. The only difference now is that I&amp;#39;m not making myself throw up. I want to, but I don&amp;#39;t let myself get into the cycle because it was so difficult to stop before. Yet, I am sorta in that cycle, really.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I am going to weigh myself. It&amp;#39;s been a while. There are scales in the building. Be right back....&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;I am back, huffing, puffing and wheezing because I actually walked. Went to the scales and found that I&amp;#39;m 253.2 pounds, which is 114.9 kilos or 18.09 stone for the Brits out there. The scales are located beside the vending machines and I stopped and purchased some peanut M&amp;amp;M&amp;#39;s and a peanut butter Moon Pie. I never eat that shit, but today I will. Why not? I thought I was 260, and I&amp;#39;m actually seven pounds less than that, so by all means I need to eat! Even though I feel like I could vomit, I&amp;#39;m going to pack this shit in anyway.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Wow, while typing I&amp;#39;m getting really angry. Curious. I usually don&amp;#39;t get angry. I am the depressed, emo type who just cries. Not now...I could smack the shit out of something at the moment.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;You know, at least it&amp;#39;s food I guess. If I was a drug user, I think tonight you would find me a lot like DJ AM who just died with 8 OxyContin not even all the way dissolved in his stomach, the ninth one still in his mouth, not even swallowed, laying on a bag of weed with a crack pipe beside him. At least he was skinny. Maybe I need to switch to drugs. What would my drug of choice be? I hate feeling out of control of my body, so which one would it be...hmmmm....&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;This peanut butter Moon Pie tastes like shit, but I&amp;#39;m going to eat it anyway. I should wash it down with a Mountain Dew or milkshake if I had one. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;OK, just finished the Moon Pie and onto the M&amp;amp;M&amp;#39;s! I&amp;#39;m not a big chocolate eater. I like dark chocolate, but don&amp;#39;t eat a lot of it. M&amp;amp;M&amp;#39;s I only eat if going to the movies. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;What the fuck am I doing? &lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Now the wimp is coming back and I want to cry. I&amp;#39;m no longer angry. I am lost. I don&amp;#39;t know who I am. I am barely chewing the M&amp;amp;M&amp;#39;s...just swallowing them to get it over with. I want to go to bed. I don&amp;#39;t want to go to bed. I want to die. I don&amp;#39;t want to die. I want to be a thousand pounds and not be able to get out of my house without a forklift breaking down a wall and getting me. I want to be skinny. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I want and want and want and want while increasingly becoming more empty inside. Nothing can fill this emotional chasm.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-6412310456413885951?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/a3fHuxtnJyo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/6412310456413885951/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=6412310456413885951&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/6412310456413885951?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/6412310456413885951?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/a3fHuxtnJyo/at-impasse.html" title="At an Impasse" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/09/at-impasse.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYERX8-fSp7ImA9WxNSEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-4453284028338481814</id><published>2009-08-25T13:22:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T22:18:24.155-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T22:18:24.155-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="College" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Weight" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sex" /><title>Vomitous Musings</title><content type="html">I quit smoking for two years and have started again. I started back when I was trying to find a job and didn't think much about it. Just thought that I was stressed and it would help during the craziness. I now have a job and am continuing to smoke. I just went outside at work and had one and feel sick. I just want to stop doing it. I don't get any joy from it and it's no longer helping, but hindering my health. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For the past few days I've felt like a sinus infection is coming on. I used to get a lot of sinus infections when smoking years ago and that is one of the reasons why I stopped. When I feel the symptoms reappear in the last few days, it's another reason why I want to stop now. My throat has started hurting, ears hurt and now my body is hurting as well. I have a constant headache and am completely exhausted. When I wake up in the morning I can't breathe through my nose at all and am tired of it being stuffy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm glad I wrote about this. Just seeing the words has made me decide that it's time to quit again. Hold on while I throw my cigarettes away.....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There we go. I just threw away what I have and don't intend to buy anymore. I quit cold turkey last time and can do it again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I also notice the way my clothes smell when smoking and can't stand it. I never really noticed it back when I smoked all of the time. Now I do notice and hate smelling this way. After smoking I always wash my hands and use "Midnight Pomegranate" (from Bath and Body Works) antibacterial hand foam because I love how it smells and also how it eradicates the smoky smell. I use it all the time anyway and it really helps while smoking.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now I won't be using it after smoking a cig anymore because once again, I'm done. It's over.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel relief while typing that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Another thing that is really getting to me is my weight. Yes, I've blogged about it in the past, but it's getting to the point where even my "fat" clothes are getting tight and damn if I'm going to buy a larger size. I don't feel comfortable in my clothes at all and feel like I've been wrapped in cellophane every day. Even when I breathe, my clothes feel like they have constricted around me and won't let me get a full breath. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm rarely hungry. I don't eat a lot. I'm even getting to the point that nothing tastes good anymore and wish that I didn't have to eat at all. I've thought of just stopping eating, but that is my anorexic brain whispering words of intoxication into my ear. As I've blogged before, I'm a fat anorexic. I used to be anorexic for years and was very skinny. Even when skinny I was never happy because I always thought I could lose just five more pounds. When I see pictures of myself back then I can't believe how great I looked compared to now.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My husband asked to have sex again last night. I declined. Not only do I not feel good, but I don't feel like it with him anyway as I've written about before. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I've decided to stay with my husband until my insurance starts the first of September. He says that he really wants to go to counseling. He says that he also wants to go to a doctor to see what could be wrong with him mentally and will take any meds they may prescribe. This may turn out to help a lot of things between us and so I will persevere. If either things don't get better, or he doesn't go to counseling, a doctor, or take meds, it is over. I will then feel I did everything to make the marriage work and will have no regrets or feel that I could have done something more.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As soon as my insurance starts I am also going to visit a doctor to get all tests done under the sun to help with my weight and health. I am tired of being overweight. I do not look to food for comfort and don't eat a lot, but the weight makes me look like I shove Twinkies in my mouth 24/7. I don't eat candy, cakes, cookies, potato chips, etc. I love fruits and vegetables and eat them a lot. I went to a gym and worked out for a month and gained four pounds. I cried and didn't go back afterwards. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am going to go back though because I've noticed since stopping going that I feel more tired all of the time and don't have the same endurance I had before.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Work is going alright, just a lot of projects that need to be completed. School is fine. I made a 97 on my term paper, 98 on my mid-term and 96 on my presentation. I have 100's in my other class. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My mind is a sieve and I feel like I'm just vomiting on the page. I feel like doing that most of the time anyway due to my clothes wrapping around me like a boa constrictor.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At least I threw away my cigarettes. Maybe that will be a start in a new direction.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-4453284028338481814?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/ABfbwJHRR6g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/4453284028338481814/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=4453284028338481814&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/4453284028338481814?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/4453284028338481814?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/ABfbwJHRR6g/vomitous-musings.html" title="Vomitous Musings" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/08/vomitous-musings.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUCSXgzeSp7ImA9WxNSEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-7307800892872016674</id><published>2009-08-17T10:15:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T22:21:08.681-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T22:21:08.681-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Daughter" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sex" /><title>It's All About Him</title><content type="html">I am sitting at work in my cube about to cry. I am trying to work, but cannot get out of my mind how upset I am becoming with my husband. I am hoping that I will feel better after writing this and can go on with my day.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am getting to the point in our relationship where I don't even like him much anymore as a person. I wish I could tell him this, but I can't, just like I can't tell him a lot of things because he will go off on some long tangent of how he feels and completely miss the point of how I feel.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He is not respectful to me. He can be picking on me and hurt me physically and I tell him to stop and he won't. Then he makes fun of me for it hurting and says that I am making a big deal out of nothing. He loves to push people's buttons. Well, I say people, but I am meaning my daughter and me. Just yesterday she was playing solitaire and he went to her, took the cards and started flipping them everywhere. She told him to stop and he wouldn't and she got highly irritated. Then he got after her for being upset and acted like it was her problem.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He is like a little boy looking around for a problem and then complaining when people don't like what he's doing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He will drape his legs and feet all over me in bed and I don't like it and tell him to stop because he makes me feel like he's using me and he's heavy but if we are on the couch and I drape one toe on him he tells me to stop. I stopped wanting him to drape himself all over me after he didn't want me to touch him. This has been something that has been happening over a very long period of time and I am at the point that I don't even want him to touch me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Yet at the same time, I wish he would do things like hold my hand or show affection. He rarely does this. If I go to him and hold his hand, he takes it away after a small amount of time if not right away. If I hug him, he pats my back like I am a child or picks on me and makes fun of me for wanting a hug. He can never just give hugs because I need one.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In fact, he doesn't seem to want to give any of himself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My 20th high school reunion is coming up. I didn't go to the 10th year because I wasn't interested. This year I am interested and want to go more because this is an American thing that people do, kinda like prom, and I want to try it out. I asked my husband if he wanted to go and he said no. Remember that he is Moroccan. I understand that he doesn't understand the traditions here. He wasn't raised here. I get it. But once again, what he wants to do is more important than what I want to do. Or so it seems to me. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He complained that I never hang out with these people anyway, so what is the point. He then went on to say that no one in this area provides any intellectual stimulation for him and he doesn't want to waste his time with anyone. I have some best friends from high school. They have some problems, as all people in life do, and he doesn't want anything to do with them. He complained that they have nothing to give him and I asked him why does a person have to give him anything? In reality, they aren't the most educated, but they do know a lot, and they are caring people just trying to make it in this world and they do care about us. It is fun to hang out with them and I care about them a lot. I love their children as well. They would give us their last dollar if they thought we needed it. That isn't enough for my husband. They have to provide intellectual and cultural stimulation for him AND have no issues at all. Basically, they need to be better than my husband so that he can look up to them and feel that he is learning something from them in order to feel that he should "waste" his time with them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It makes me sick.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
No one is good enough for him. I really don't understand why he married me. I am no intellectual or cultural giant for him and I'm fat. So, what did he find so compelling with me?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I cried when he said that he wasn't going to the reunion and told him that I would feel embarrassed if he didn't go and he said that "everything is so emotional with me" and that he is tired of it. He said that we just need to coexist. What the fuck? I feel that we coexist anyway, but I ask myself if we are married or not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
What is the damn point? I can coexist with a roommate and have more fun and less stress, if he really wants to know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We never do anything with each other anymore and that includes things I do with my daughter. He stays home. If I go out with my friends, he stays home. When he and I go out, which is rare, it always ends in a fight or some emotional drama. I don't even want to go out with him anymore. If I go anywhere with others, he goes somewhere else or stays home. It's like we have different lives.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We still haven't had sex. He says that it's me now because he would like to. But I ask you, would you like to have sex with someone who considers you to be obese? Wouldn't you feel embarrassed the entire time you share that intimate moment? Wouldn't you worry what he was thinking about? &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After he said that I was too emotional about the reunion, he then leaned over and whispered in my ear that he was sorry and he would go to the reunion with me. He said that he needs to learn to give me what I need. &lt;br /&gt;
The fact of the matter is that I have questioned myself on what needs he fulfills, and really I can honestly say none. I asked him the same thing and he said that he knows that he doesn't fulfill my needs. I asked him if I fulfill his or name needs that I don't fulfill and he said that I fulfill all of them. Do you know why I do? Because I fucking work at it. I do things that I don't want to do sometimes to fulfill his needs. That is fucking life. I wish he would get it sometimes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-7307800892872016674?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/WZ3xMBmY0eE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/7307800892872016674/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=7307800892872016674&amp;isPopup=true" title="14 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/7307800892872016674?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/7307800892872016674?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/WZ3xMBmY0eE/its-all-about-him.html" title="It's All About Him" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">14</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/08/its-all-about-him.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkAHSXs-cSp7ImA9WxJaGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-6492653006369497223</id><published>2009-08-10T19:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T19:58:58.559-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-10T19:58:58.559-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Memories" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Busy" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="College" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><title>Some Good News</title><content type="html">I made a 98 on my political science mid-term exam and a 100 on my database management systems mid-term. Not too shabby. Still holding that 4.0 GPA. If only I can last.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The job has been going good. Seven projects have been assigned to me already and&amp;nbsp;it feel like I'm drowning. I'm sure it will get easier over time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm still married. My husband said that he really wants to make this work. We are going to get family counseling and he said that he will attend, which is a good thing. I hope that it helps. He also said that he would go to a psychiatrist to see if any meds will help him because he can't stand the chaos he endures and gives to others. My insurance starts September 1 and I'm hoping&amp;nbsp;that he will still go then.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Taking a break from class and need to get back. I love my political science teacher. He reminds me of my grandfather who died when I was ten years old. I just sit in the front row, staring and listening to him. I wish my grandfather was still alive. I've missed him so much over the years.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-6492653006369497223?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/wjt5wcSRtkE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/6492653006369497223/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=6492653006369497223&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/6492653006369497223?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/6492653006369497223?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/wjt5wcSRtkE/some-good-news.html" title="Some Good News" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/08/some-good-news.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEAAQnkyfSp7ImA9WxNSEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-2701514677377685224</id><published>2009-08-05T11:54:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T22:12:23.795-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T22:12:23.795-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Depression" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><title>The Window to my Soul</title><content type="html">Today I was in a team status meeting at work and noticed that two people stared at me quite a bit. This doesn't usually occur and I wondered if there was something between my teeth, something in my hair or anything that would cause their curiosity. As I left, one of the people asked how I was doing. I said "Fine", smiled and walked to the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For the first time in a while I actually looked at myself to see what could be wrong. Nothing was in my hair or teeth and nothing was protruding from my forehead to cause concern. I continued to look and then noticed my eyes and was shocked.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
They look dead.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It looks like they have a muted expression and depression is screaming out of their orbs. Even the skin around my eyes is dark, which is not usual at all. One of my best features is my eyes, not only for the color, but also the expression they continually radiate. They are truly the window to my soul. Right now I think my soul is broken. It's black and my eyes reflect no light or joy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It is quite surreal to see. I knew something broke inside of me last night. I felt it mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically. I wonder if my husband will notice it tonight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-2701514677377685224?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/rXxrdP7cOvo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/2701514677377685224/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=2701514677377685224&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/2701514677377685224?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/2701514677377685224?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/rXxrdP7cOvo/window-to-my-soul.html" title="The Window to my Soul" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/08/window-to-my-soul.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE4GR3w7eCp7ImA9WxNSEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-5172983013461592650</id><published>2009-08-05T08:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T22:15:26.200-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T22:15:26.200-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Daughter" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sadness" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Weight" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Drama" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sex" /><title>The Numbness</title><content type="html">I am at work this morning and sending this to my blog account via e-mail. I never get to my blog these days it seems. Most of the time I don't know what to write about. There are times that occur few and far between where I do want to write, but in those times I'm driving down the road or in a place where I don't have my computer. By the time I get to my computer I have nothing to say again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have nothing to say because I'm at a point in my life where I just feel numb. So much has gone on that it feels like information overload and my mind's defense mechanism is to blanket myself in numbness. It works in the moment, but it gets to the point where I can't feel any more. If I do have a bout of feeling, extreme sadness pervades my being and the numbness returns.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The good thing is that my work has not been affected. I've decided that I can't let it be affected any more. No matter what I have to drag myself in and really, when I get into work at least I can stop focusing on the pain of my personal life for a bit.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't know who I am physically when I look in the mirror; therefore, I don't look at the mirror much. I have gained so much weight it appears that I'm dragging another person around with me all of the time. The huge clothes I wear are getting tight and the pounds continue to swallow me whole. It has changed my entire face, profile and aura. I feel that the more stress occurring in my life, the more the weight sticks to me like a parasite. In a perverse way, I wish I could go on one of those reality shows like "Biggest Loser" to be able to escape to a place where I work on myself and have someone that only cares about my best interests. I obviously don't care about my best interests or I would change everything.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My sex life is nonexistent. The other night my husband did ask if I wanted to and though I did want to physically, I didn't want to with him. I feel so ugly with him and didn't want to feel like he was porking a beached whale. And yes, I just wrote that. This is how I feel. The way he looks at my body sometimes is downright demeaning. He is an artist and highly visual. I cannot even imagine what thoughts go through his mind when he looks at me like that. He feels that I'm obese. Yes, I am overweight quite a bit, but I'm not 300 pounds. To me, obese is when you are 300 pounds or more if you have my body type and height. There are other people where 300 is not obese, but they are just a proportionally big person. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel like I can't have sex with my husband any more. Even if I lose mounds of weight and he wants to be with my physically, I think I will just feel resentful. I have always wanted to have sex with him and it really is a turning point in my life to no longer want to be with him in that sense.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Last night drama ensued again with my husband about my daughter. He really cannot deal with teens. She has her issues as we all do, yet at the same time she's not terrible. In fact, she is quite good. There are times when her hormones run wild and she doesn't think before she acts and can be quite impulsive, but she's not rebellious or evil. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
To make a long story short, he said for the umpteenth time that he couldn't deal with things regarding my daughter and was leaving. Two weeks ago he said that he didn't want me to have to choose between him and my daughter but that it looked like it was getting to that point. He has said many times in the past that he was going to leave, but always stayed. Last night was the first time where I felt something break inside of me when he said he was leaving and I know I can't go back. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
People say that I have the patience of Job. I don't know if I have that much, but I know that I have a lot. It's great that I can be patient for years on end with someone, yet the other hand, when my patience finally leaves me, it's more like a snap, a sudden breaking of something inside, and that's it. I can't go back. &lt;br /&gt;
This time I can't go back. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A while after he said this last night he said that he wasn't going to leave and he wanted to work on things. I have heard this so many times and am tired. I told him that I didn't blame him and think that I am expecting for him to give something of himself that he can't and that it would be best for everyone if it was over. I told him that I wanted to sleep by myself because I'm the type of person where if it is over, it's over and I need to have clear lines drawn in the sand. He ended up falling asleep in the bed anyway. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He was asleep when I left for work. He may think that things are going back to the way they are, but they are not. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-5172983013461592650?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/rp23hYbaOkI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/5172983013461592650/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=5172983013461592650&amp;isPopup=true" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5172983013461592650?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5172983013461592650?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/rp23hYbaOkI/numbness.html" title="The Numbness" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/08/numbness.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MBRn44eip7ImA9WxJbFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-8578648345689922740</id><published>2009-07-23T23:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T23:17:37.032-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-23T23:17:37.032-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Daughter" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sadness" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Depression" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Family" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Self-talk" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Drama" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tired" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Suicide" /><title>Alone at the Beach</title><content type="html">Still at the beach. I love Hilton Head Island, SC. It is very beautiful, not too touristy and the beach is so natural. High-rise buildings and tall signs/billboards are not allowed. All store signs must be low to the ground and in earth colors. We are staying in a condo on the beach and the dunes are gorgeous. So far we have seen deer, rabbits and other critters in between our condo and the beach living in the dunes and the beach itself is covered in sand dollars, small blue crabs scuttling around and starfish. Porpoises were frolicking in the&amp;nbsp;surf&amp;nbsp;as well as my favorite pelicans scooping the water hoping for a good catch. The weather has been truly amazing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My best friend left to go back home with her family. It was a tight fit with everyone. Basically it was ten people in a place set up for six. There were so many children sleeping in the living room/kitchen area that you couldn't make coffee or even get to the sink in the morning until everyone woke up. My best friend got out of the psychiatric hospital this past Friday and seeing her here at the beach was wonderful. She is doing better now than she has in a long time. She commented last night while we floated in the pool that she feels more relaxed than she has in years. I'm very happy for her....and relieved. I'm worried that when she gets home she will become overwhelmed with reality and I won't be there to help her. I told her husband to remind her that there has been great progress and to take it one step at a time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My husband is at home. Every day he says that he will drive out here, but has not. Every day there has been some type of phone drama with him and frankly I am tired. Last night I cried a lot and this afternoon I cried again because I couldn't get in touch with him and I was scared he ended it all. He's been talking about it for days, if not weeks, and when I called the neighbor who said that the car was there and he wouldn't answer the door, I just knew it was the end. I was frantic with worry and he finally called. His phone was in the bedroom vibrating while he was in the living room not hearing it. I just broke down in tears and told him that he frightened me. He promised to call if he was going to do it, though this doesn't set my mind at ease. I, of all people, know that a decision like that can be impulsively made and I don't put much stock into thinking he would pick up the phone first.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Since my friends left I was on the beach alone. My daughter is here with my nephew from France, his friend from France along with my best friends daughter who is my daughters friend. They bounced between the pool, beach and condo during the day while I hung out under an umbrella on the sand. My mind continually went through everything on my mind and it was difficult to think about much else. I looked around and noticed that not many people were by themselves at the beach. It felt quite lonely to see other families spending time together while my husband sits at home. I wonder if I am married sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I feel quite down tonight. I am in bed by myself while my husband is miles and miles away. This isn't how it is supposed to be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-8578648345689922740?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/3_txjo-uOvE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/8578648345689922740/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=8578648345689922740&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/8578648345689922740?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/8578648345689922740?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/3_txjo-uOvE/alone-at-beach.html" title="Alone at the Beach" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/07/alone-at-beach.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4AQnkzfyp7ImA9WxJUGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-738195479744230786</id><published>2009-07-17T22:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T22:42:23.787-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-17T22:42:23.787-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Disgust" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Daughter" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sadness" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Depression" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Busy" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Despair" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Gratitude" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Weight" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Hospital" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tired" /><title>And So....</title><content type="html">I found a job and started work this past Monday. I worked there two and a half years ago and it was the place where I ended up in the psychiatric hospital. It feels pretty surreal to be back there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My nephew is here from France along with his friend. My house has been full of teens for two weeks. Sunday we go to the beach for a week. I can't wait. It's my parents timeshare and they gave us a week to go. I am very thankful to them for that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This past week was spent in training. I go to the beach for a week, which isn't bad at all.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My marriage is a mess.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My husband is mentally ill.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am fighting depression. It hasn't claimed me yet.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My husband isn't going to the beach with us. He wants to be alone. He says that what he's going through isn't my problem. I really don't know what to think.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Some days I feel we will be divorced soon.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Every day he tells me that he wants to kill himself. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I haven't been able to blog. I have a Facebook account and every once in a while post statuses. Other than that, the creative juice isn't flowing and so I am silent.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was out of work for eight weeks. I am behind in my mortgage and car payment.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My best friend from high school tried to kill herself. She has four children and I helped out with them while she was in the hospital. She just got out today. She is going to the beach with us. I hope that it will help her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am a fat cow. I have gained more weight and now weigh 250. My husband doesn't want to have sex with me. He says that it has changed the sexual experience. Don't get me wrong...I realize I am ugly and fat. I wouldn't want to have sex with myself....but it still hurts my feelings and I still get horny and frustrated and feel even more ugly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Enough of that....&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am trying to go forward in my life. I am trying to appreciate everything and have gratitude. I am trying to make my marriage work. I am trying to help my daughter navigate the murky waters of her late teenage years. I am trying to try.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-738195479744230786?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/aU0HXnxOOak" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/738195479744230786/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=738195479744230786&amp;isPopup=true" title="18 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/738195479744230786?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/738195479744230786?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/aU0HXnxOOak/and-so.html" title="And So...." /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">18</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-so.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cNRXc7eCp7ImA9WxJXFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-4242121795282862434</id><published>2009-06-10T22:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T22:58:14.900-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-10T22:58:14.900-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Depression" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><title>Looking, Looking</title><content type="html">Every day is spent looking for a job. Nothing has happened, yet. I've been out of work for two weeks.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tonight I am drinking wine again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Don't know what to say. I need to blog because it does help. Forcing myself to blog tonight though I just don't know what to say.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have been trying hard to not let the depression rear it's diabolical head again.These past two days it's been difficult. I don't want to get out of bed, but am forcing myself to.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am trying to find a reason to continue in life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't know what else to say.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-4242121795282862434?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/S3q_s9gi8RI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/4242121795282862434/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=4242121795282862434&amp;isPopup=true" title="15 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/4242121795282862434?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/4242121795282862434?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/S3q_s9gi8RI/looking-looking.html" title="Looking, Looking" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">15</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/06/looking-looking.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQAQ3gyfip7ImA9WxJXFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-5927506557171659702</id><published>2009-06-09T00:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T00:05:42.696-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-09T00:05:42.696-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Frustrated" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Angry" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Anxiety" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Finances" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Drunk" /><title>Drunk as Shit</title><content type="html">I haven't logged into Blogger for so long it took three times. I am typing like a maniac and continue to make typos. You have no idea how many times I've used the "Backspace" key.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I lost my frickin' job.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It wasn't because I was sick. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It wasn't because I missed a lot of time from work.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If any employer should have fired me from missing work because of depression it should have been my last job.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Not this one.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was traveling!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Going to Southwest Georgia and Pennsylvania....flying...having a great time!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I loved, LOVED my job.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I worked with people who appreciated me and who I worked with 13 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am drunk while typing this.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The "Backspace" key is my friend. I used it while typing this sentence.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I lost my job. I am a loser. I am drunk. I am nothing. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I haven't blogged in a while. I didn't know what to say. Just trying to work and attend school. I didn't want to concentrate on the fucking fact that I have depression. I didn't want to be reminded of it. So, I didn't blog. I didn't type shit about it. I wanted to forget. I was scared I would have another depressive episode and find myself losing time from work. I haven't lost time from work, but I was fired anyway. I was a contractor. They told me not to come back. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am without a job. I am out of medical insurance already. I have no dental or eye insurance. I have nothing. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am nothing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am like my bioligical father who can't keep a damn job. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am the breadwinner. I may lose my house. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It's funny because I had finally, FINALLY caught up with my bills other than credit cards. I had finally gotten caught up with everything! And then BAM, no job. It's over. The fat lady has sang.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have been out of job for two weeks now. I shoot resumes like a machine gun. NOTHING. No jobs...nothing. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I drank a lot of wine tonight hoping to forget. I feel better physically with this wine swirling in my system. Not so much anxiety wracking my body. But I don't forget the fact that I am a loser. I don't forget that. I think I need bottles of Ambien to forget that.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have missed all of you. I read your blogs secretly via my cell phone. The same cell phone that I will probably lose over time when I can't pay the damn bill because I am out of ajob.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am nothing. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am tired of this shit.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I loved that job. I loved everything abougt it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was finally happy. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am now devastated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-5927506557171659702?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/--SVGOp0Snw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/5927506557171659702/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=5927506557171659702&amp;isPopup=true" title="12 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5927506557171659702?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/5927506557171659702?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/--SVGOp0Snw/drunk-as-shit.html" title="Drunk as Shit" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">12</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/06/drunk-as-shit.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUFSHY-fSp7ImA9WxVaGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-1423068680349928471</id><published>2009-04-15T20:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T20:53:39.855-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-15T20:53:39.855-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Daughter" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Depression" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Morocco" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sleeping" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Despair" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Failure" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tired" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Frustrated" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Angry" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Cried" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Anxiety" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Fighting" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Drama" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Suicide" /><title>Effin' Hell</title><content type="html">Too much going on. I hate my laptop. It's so slow and I rarely get on it anymore. I need to start using it a lot more now because school has started back. I really need a new laptop. This one is quite old, no space left and as slow as frozen molasses. Since I can get on the internet with my cellphone I use it all of the time.&amp;nbsp;All of my blogs are bookmarked on the phone and am keeping up that way, though the keyboard is horribly tiny and there are&amp;nbsp;issues posting comments on other's blogs. I also use Facebook constantly, though I never thought I would. I now understand why it's called "Crackbook".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My new job is going well still. I love working there. I've had a few depressive episodes since the last one blogged about, but was able to go in and haven't missed any work since then. I am very thankful for this. I'm going to Georgia in two weeks for work and will be gone for three days. In May I'll be in Pennsylvania for work for four days. I can't wait. With the way things are going at the house, it will be nice to have a break.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I can't even blog about it much right now because there has been so much madness going on at home I feel as if I'm in a psycho ward from Hell. To make a very long story short, we recently found out that my 16 year old daughter snuck out at 2:00am a few weekends back to meet a boy while she was staying at her Dad's house. She went beyond kissing, though I don't think she had sex, but then again with all of the lies she has recently been caught in, I'm not so sure. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am freaking out about it. This behavior is not normal for my daughter at all. My husband is absolutely freaking out about it. Let's not forget that he is from Morocco and with the way he grew up in his culture, and with the way his father was to live with, this incident has actually stirred up some childhood demons for my husband that he has never gotten over. This past Friday night I was driving him to two psychiatric hospitals and both couldn't take him because they didn't have time to evaluate him. We ended up driving back home and it's been Hell ever since. He has cried, screamed, raged, slept, and everything in between. He never cries, yet he's cried three times since Friday. He has said that he wants to kill himself, cut himself, leave, divorce, get the hell out of here, etc, etc.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My daughter is walking around with an attitude most of the time, yet other times she's sweet. I don't know who she is anymore. I do know that she is not just boy crazy, but obsessed and I don't know what I've done wrong as a parent for this and the other things we found out to happen. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'll blog more about this later if I can. I need to write it out to perserve for memory's sake, but right now it's just too upsetting and is a problem too much in the forefront of my life that frankly, I'm tired of thinking about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-1423068680349928471?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/BgoEDjLLhH4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/1423068680349928471/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=1423068680349928471&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/1423068680349928471?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/1423068680349928471?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/BgoEDjLLhH4/effin-hell.html" title="Effin' Hell" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/04/effin-hell.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUMFR3o8fCp7ImA9WxNSEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-7729795167017650793</id><published>2009-03-26T10:40:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T22:23:36.474-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T22:23:36.474-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Depression" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Weight" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Exercise" /><title>Climbing Out of the Hole</title><content type="html">Once again I am feeling better. Monday and Tuesday were terrible. Yesterday I could finally write a little bit to express how I feel. This morning was difficult but it's getting better. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And the cycle continues.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I haven't been on my laptop in ages. I've been using my mobile phone for everything. The only thing I don't like about it is having issues when wanting to leave blog comments. It drives me nuts.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I need a new laptop. The one I have is old and slow and driving me nuts as well.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm still working out at the gym (except for Monday and Tuesday this past week), eating right, taking supplements, etc. I really am trying to change my life. I even get to bed by 10:00pm most nights. Last night it was 9:30pm. Before I stayed up way late and so I'm trying to get more sleep to see if it helps the depression.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm still taking Prozac. I'm thinking it may need to be upped a bit and will be discussing it with my doctor.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I think this is the most boring post ever so I'll end it here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-7729795167017650793?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/D50B1gQaR6U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/7729795167017650793/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=7729795167017650793&amp;isPopup=true" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/7729795167017650793?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/7729795167017650793?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/D50B1gQaR6U/climbing-out-of-hole.html" title="Climbing Out of the Hole" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/03/climbing-out-of-hole.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUQBSHc8eSp7ImA9WxNSEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-3891431350132097789</id><published>2009-03-25T14:04:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T22:22:39.971-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T22:22:39.971-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Depression" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Suicide" /><title>It Never Ends</title><content type="html">Here I am again writing about depression. Its vicious grip is back with its scaly hands bound around my throat. It's hanging on for dear life while I'm hanging on for dear death.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I went to get lunch today and stared around the restaurant curious how many people there wanted to die at that moment. Am I the only one thinking about death? Am I the only one wanting to be gone?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Suicide is on my brain once again. When will it end?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Tuesday night a guy I graduated high school with was killed in an automobile accident. Why do I wish it were me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-3891431350132097789?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/Dku4CgmW51Y" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/3891431350132097789/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=3891431350132097789&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/3891431350132097789?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/3891431350132097789?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/Dku4CgmW51Y/it-never-ends.html" title="It Never Ends" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/03/it-never-ends.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUMASXg8eip7ImA9WxNSEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-4496530768936971581</id><published>2009-03-11T09:50:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T22:24:08.672-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T22:24:08.672-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Exercise" /><title>Working my Butt</title><content type="html">Yesterday I went to the trainer for the first time. All I can say is thank God for him because he showed me what to do and it was a success. He is such a motivating guy and I feel lucky to be doing this.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am pecking this post out on my mobile phone keyboard again so it won't be long. My only access to the Internet lately is my phone and though I've been keeping up with your blogs, I haven't commented. I will go around and do that soon when I get on the laptop next.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Thank you everyone for your encouragement. It means so very much.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
*hugs*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-4496530768936971581?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/svVq5SipAYc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/4496530768936971581/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=4496530768936971581&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/4496530768936971581?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/4496530768936971581?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/svVq5SipAYc/working-my-butt.html" title="Working my Butt" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/03/working-my-butt.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEGQHY_fip7ImA9WxNSEkg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-6166735554482260015</id><published>2009-03-10T10:03:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T22:27:01.846-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-25T22:27:01.846-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Friends" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Husband" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Exercise" /><title>Rod the Trainer</title><content type="html">I am writing this from my mobile phone. Not sure how it will look, but we'll see.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Right before Christmas a friend gave me a one-year free membership to a local gym. She won it in a charity event and didn't want it. I got the membership right before New Years and never went back. My husband thought it would be best if I start with a trainer to learn how to do the machines and such and I finally made an appointment with one and start today after work.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
His name is Rod and he is a great motivator. He says he is going to kick my ass and that is exactly what I need. He already has me started on the protein shakes and has been helping with nutrition tips. I'm really excited. I may actually lose some weight finally.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm finally feeling better from the cold crud. The cough won't seem to go away, but other than that I'm a lot better. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I STILL have my monthly!! It won't go away and has been quite painful. I'm not sure if I'll use Ceasonal again. If it keeps going on I really need to see a doc but don't want to take the time off work, so I hope it just stops on its own soon.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was late to work yesterday and still feel bad about it. I need to yank my butt out of bed, but I recently realized that if I could do anything in the world, I would just want to lay in bed and sleep for the rest of my life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I always knew that I was a loser and this really proves it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-6166735554482260015?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/mMckKtEvFho" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/6166735554482260015/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=6166735554482260015&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/6166735554482260015?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/6166735554482260015?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/mMckKtEvFho/i-am-writing-this-from-my-mobile-phone.html" title="Rod the Trainer" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-am-writing-this-from-my-mobile-phone.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEYCQXYzeip7ImA9WxVVEkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-161067251191887469.post-7538058621561288033</id><published>2009-03-04T19:14:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T19:16:00.882-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-04T19:16:00.882-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Daughter" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Memories" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Frustrated" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Depression" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sleeping" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sick" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Tired" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Advice" /><title>Needing a Revolutionary Life</title><content type="html">Didn't go to work today. Woke up this morning worse than yesterday. Dizzy, hacking and coughing and feel very weak. It would have been better if I didn't go to work yesterday at all and just rested for one more day because last night after getting home from work I felt worse than I had two days previously. So, I called into work and let them know. Not sure what they are thinking. It's obvious to them that I am sick because even yesterday my new manager told me that I should go home because I could hardly talk without coughing. I hope she understood when I called in this morning and doesn't think anything bad about me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Once again, here I am starting a job and getting sick as a dog. Thank goodness it's not depression this time, but being sick like this hasn't been cake either. I don't remember feeling so bad physically for a long time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I took an Ambien tonight with a glass of wine so that I will be able to sleep well in order to get up early and get my butt to work.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One annoying thing going on as well is that I have my monthly and I shouldn't have it. I am taking birth control pills named "Ceasonal" and basically you take them for three months straight so you won't have your period. With my period terrors I really wanted to try this to see if it would help. The weirdest thing is that I'm now in week 8 and I started my period! At first it was just a little and I had no pain or emotional issues. Then today the pain is arching down my stomach past my knees like lightning bolts. I then started wondering if it is affecting me mentally without me realizing it. Maybe that is why I thought about downing the bottle of Ambien yesterday for no reason. I have no clue.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Right now I'm just in pain and there is quite a bit of period going on when there should be NONE...NADA..ZILCH. So, I am a little confused with these meds. If anyone has taken Ceasonal, please let me know what your experiences with it have been. I thank you in advance.&lt;br /&gt;
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While sick I've been reading the book called "Revolutionary Road". Great read, but it really makes me think a lot about my own life and how I need a change. I need to just sell everything and move to Scotland. That was the only place I felt at home. Maybe I will do that as soon as my daughter graduates. Or maybe before then. Who knows...I just need to change things in my life. It will help me mentally, that's for sure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/161067251191887469-7538058621561288033?l=chunksofreality.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~4/S5lUDhRBb1o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/feeds/7538058621561288033/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=161067251191887469&amp;postID=7538058621561288033&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/7538058621561288033?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/161067251191887469/posts/default/7538058621561288033?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/ChunksOfReality/~3/S5lUDhRBb1o/didnt-go-to-work-today.html" title="Needing a Revolutionary Life" /><author><name>Chunks of Reality</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05550378591715392039</uri><email>chunksofreality@gmail.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="02289199040657949613" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://chunksofreality.blogspot.com/2009/03/didnt-go-to-work-today.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>
