Control

So, MacGuyver is currently less itchy than expected, though part of his eye peeks out through my shorts. It's a new addition to the ecclectic scars covering my legs from Self Injury, which most people are too nervous to ask questions about.

I made bank in tips today, considering how few tables I actually had. There were three of us, and keep in mind, the place is a small locals spot, so there's regulars, and the tips aren't always the best. And there's only like....14 tables, with three servers, and a slow arrival of people, since our area is hit pretty hard by the recession. I still made $37 from a 6 hour shift, and add that on the about $8.25/hour I make...? They take off $1/hour for tips (so I don't have to file separately for the tips I make) and an extra $10/paycheck that I have withheld...so....I figure in the past two days I've been working on my own, I've made about....$75/day? After adding in tips to the paycheck? Which averages out to about $11/hour. And apparently, when it's just me and one other server (meaning, when I'm not still on "training" mode), I'll be making MORE in tips...so...I'm pretty happy. We'll see how it goes when I actually get my paycheck.....



So, Boy, aka, R, and I are dating, I suppose? But on the same note, what I said about life and relationships and Katy Perry in an entry a while back, is basically that California Girls probably don't find themselves in the predicament I'm in.
H and T are a husband and wife. Young 30's. Rich. One is basically a physicist, the other an emergency veterinarian. She's....fucking perfect, and he has like...7% body fat.
He acts as her dominant...meaning they play bondage games, and she's the pet.

....they want me to join them.
And I...don't think I'd mind.
They're both geeks. He made her a Lego rose for their second date. They have a giant death star. She has TITS. Boys...well, the more I'm around R, while he's perfect, I realize that boys just don't INTEREST me that much, and I'd mostly be HERS. I'd be his, too, but he and I would be more of friends who had sexy times when she was involved, and I'm TOTALLY okay with this. They want me to visit them out East, and they're coming to visit me, and see how things go. And things feel really cool and right with them, and not just because I want someone to care about me.

They're obsessive over how I exercise, and making sure I do it, but also what I eat....and they yell at me when I eat bad foods. So I like that.


Point is, they have the boy, which I seem to want some times...and they have TITS.
So I'm at a cross roads. On one side, an emotionally fulfilling heterosexual relationship with the male version of me.


On the other side, a polyamorous couple who can take me away from my home town, give me mind blowing sex, and who things might not work out with in the long run, but I'll still be able to motorboat myself into oblivion with a girl who puts as much stock as I do in the importance of a well rounded education involving Star Wars VS Star Trek.
And they're INCREDIBLY smart.



I don't know.

This shit always happens.

Point is, life is a strange beast.





I'm at 121.6 or something. .8? I forget. Point is, I only gained 1.4 pounds from my binge yesterday, which makes me very happy. I thoroughly expected to gain more, considering how much I ate. Which puts me at a 5 pound loss since last Monday. I'm back to eating nothing, living on Atrophex, Adderall, and diet soda. I feel very sick, have burned almost 2000 calories and it's only 4:48pm, and I'm very pleased with that. I'm going to be burning a lot at this server job, and I work an even longer, busier schedule tomorrow, working the swing shift there. While it's hard, being on my feet that long is very fulfilling, and it seriously has been starting to shape up my legs.

My waist went from 26.5 inches on Monday, to 25.5 inches yesterday morning.

The only down side is being around all that food, all the time, makes me seriously fiend. And I wind up pulling the complete antithesis to my trainer job, and urging people to get the most fattening, terrible foods, just so I can smell it, see it, stare at it, and watch them eat it. It's like...directing porn. Like telling someone, "Now touch them there...lick them here...." and being able to tell them just how to do it, how to taste it, but never being able to touch or taste for yourself. It makes my stomach knot, and I find myself watching almost rapt as they eat, and disguising it constant vigilance. I'm always at the table the moment their soda runs out to replace it, always there to clear their plates, recommending the best desserts, judging their faces to find what the best tasting foods are and making the best recommendations. Not because I know first hand how the burger is the juiciest in town, or how the brownie a la mode melts in your mouth, but because I watch the flutter of lashes of other customers. Hear their quiet murmurs as their overly large, inflated jaws open to emit the fat filled grease, adding to the heavy weight holding down arms and stomach, making their moans of pleasure reverberate like they live inside of an ampitheater.

Horrifying. Addicting.
I watch with both disgust and jealousy.
Constantly hungry.
Constantly smiling.
Like a ravenous shark.
Twitching.
Jaws wired shut.



Every time I want to give in and wrap my mouth around a french fry or biscuits and gravy, I slip another diet pill into my mouth and down enough diet pepsi to make me feel sick.

The overload of Atrophex soon makes my stomach churn, and the smell of the food becomes a sating factor in and of itself.

Like exercising while looking at pizza. Equating the refrain to the loss of calories. I find myself content with only staring, not with tasting. The less I have, the less I want to consume, and just to smell. To watch.
I get the guilty pleasure of vicariously living through their tastebuds, while watching my own self melt away.
Feeling naught an ounce of withdrawal, nor an ounce of rage from staying away.
I am so inundated with these foods that how can I ever claim to be deprived?
Not a morsel passes my lips, yet I am satisfied.

I shrink.
They grow.
I get the pleasure of smelling, touching, handling, watching, serving.
They simply get to eat.
And then regret.
I know the food longer.
I know it intimately. From the moment it is delivered, I am watching, seeing as it takes shape, watching as it is formed into the concotions that become such addictions.
It's almost nurturing it. Handing it off to another. It is in my possession, under my calm and steady touch, much longer than it is on their plate or in their stomachs. I get the pleasure of making, smelling, preparing, serving....they get only their distended bellies and growing waistlines.


Perhaps that is a wicked way to approach it.
But it appears to be working.
My mouth may water from time to time. I may steal the heel of a slice of bread with butter, enjoying it with more pleasure than they do the whole of their steak and eggs and four slices of toast. But I am still losing. I am still smelling. I am still touching.
And I am stronger for it.




I am a mean and evil person from time to time.
But the hunger makes me feel more powerful than a Roman Emperor.
The dizziness more potent than Napoleon at his peak.



This is a war I fight. A war on hunger, a war on my body, a war on everything.
I am hunger's supplicant. Ana's Neophite.
And I will be strong. I will be as healthy as possible, but I will still refrain, and I will succeed.

Stay Strong, lovelies.

♥
PrettyWreck