I’ve officially turned into my Mother – in the words of Bridget Jones (my spiritual guide) there is ‘no turning about it’. The lovely Physics Geek is in a bit of a slump over lack of job after telling boss to fuck off malarky so what did this little bunny do to ease the situation? Offer to help him jobhunt? Rub his neck whilst cooing about everything being okay? Did I bollocks… No, this ED riddled chick went and bought him a big fat bar of chocolate. And I’ve been regretting it all week! I’ve never seen him look so bemused and bewildered. And then of course it hit me like a ton of bricks, that is exactly what Mum would have done because to the female side of the Long Tall family at least, food = comfort.
In other news, I went to the wedding of two dear friends armed with iron knickers and a beaming smile and had an incredible time. I even went as far as shaking my booty on the dancefloor! Granted it took a while for it to stop jiggling (even with the iron knickers in place) but it was great fun and I showed a side to myself I’ve not shown in a long time. (No Dad I didn’t get my fanny out – I was just fun & carefree!)
Had another appointment with the therapist, conducted over the phone telephone due to me being in bed all week oinking. Discussed the usual therapy bollocks (I’ve become my Mother/I’m going to be single forever/I am too harsh on myself, yadda yadda yadda) and although it sounds terrifically Hollyweird to have a therapist I’m already finding it beneficial to have an ‘outlet’. I need to work on remembering that food = bad, talking = healthy. Talk, talk, talk. Oh and write, write, write. Book, blog, therapy journal.