The sleepy, confusing thoughts of an overworked chica

God, it's going to be hard to think of something to write tonight... I woke, dressed, went to work... worked... and now, thirteen hours later, am back in bed where I started the day. >.< Eeeew. It feels like I've been awake quite a bit longer than I have - in actuality, it's just that I worked ten of the past thirteen hours and therefore am completely exhausted. Blah blah workedy work.

The only thing I can really say about today that has a vague sort of merit is that it often strikes me, working in the bakery of a Cheesecake Factory, both how far I've come and how ironic my choice of work is. (Most awkwardly worded sentence ever. I'm too tired to fix it.)

It's sickening how many total strangers harrass me about my weight on any given shift. I'll never get used to it. The strange, somewhat comforting thing is that finally, at least a little, it's starting to become a galling irritation instead of a starve-me-purge-me-something-anything trigger. I can't deny that it still hurts and pokes every time someone cracks a joke about how impossible it must be for me to work where I do and stay skinny (on my bitterest days I have been known to shoot back a rude, anorexic remark, but I'd not recommend that course of action to anyone). It still makes me bone check and run for a mirror when overweight, middle-aged individuals tell me that haha, enjoy it while you can, you won't be skinny for very long!

...My mind is rabbit trailing tonight. All my life I've heard comments like that: enjoy it while it lasts. I was a wiry newborn and I stayed that way whether starving or not. It's how my body is built, I guess. I've got a small, long frame and a high metabolism. And yet relatives, friends, total strangers have always felt it their duty to inform me that if I don't shape up my eating habits I will wake up one morning to find I've ballooned. Working where I do, I eat like crap. I had nibbles of pizza, cheesecake, fries, and a sandwich today. And I'm terrified that I'll wake up to find that obese young woman all my friends and coworkers warn me of.

In the end, what does it matter??? Why is it such a big deal if I'm skinny or average or overweight? Perfect doesn't exist; I'll always be off by a pound or a pants size should I be fifty pounds or five hundred. If I've gotten anything from therapy it's that I need to learn to be content with myself as I am, right now, as I was made to be. Why can't others be content with me as I am? That's the strange thing.

God, I'm making absolutely no sense. I'm falling asleep on the keyboard, here, and I'm afraid to say a whole lot since it takes a little consciousness to censor highly triggering material. Thoughts in the raw should remain where they are. ...That doesn't make sense either...

I'm opening cashier tomorrow, so I'm going to end this and go to sleep. Maybe someone can glean a coherent thought from this. :-P

Peace to you all. Mmmwah!