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It's going to be my 6th year of on/off bulimia. I haven't been too fucked up for the past few months. There were hard times when I would vomit every day just so I could feel some 'relief'. And then there's the guilt. The worst was years back when I would vomit over 10 times a day. I must've had broken my mom's heart. I can't understand why it happened. Swollen cheeks are not pretty.

However, I have been generally good. I am trying to get back to where I stayed for half a year (when I was 15) - vegetarian living. It's not easy. I'm not even attempting to be a full-time vegetarian, but I really enjoy my greens and tofu. And brown rice. And the occasional fillet mignons. Indirectly, I'm making my mom think about eating healthy too, which is good. Older people need better food.

2 months of quitting cigarettes and I lost 5 pounds. Quitting the smokes also mean I'm cutting down on my beer-and-vodka drinking sessions. It also means no more coffee-and-cigarettes afternoons instead of lunch. Just a change of habit, and everything changes with it.

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I am not sure how far I'm taking this. It feels great to be ultra-healthy. But it's not convenient to be obsessive about it. I can't believe I am checking out the menu to the Italian restaurant I'm going to for dinner with K. Checking out what I have in store for me.

Carbonara? No way.
Bolognese? Urgh.
Primavera - Yes, please.

Someone tell me why I cannot seem to find the perfect balance in my life. Just a month ago, I was eating french fries every day (and cutting out other types of food to save calories) because I was so in love with fries.

Just two months ago, I indulged in steamed brocollis and nothing much of anything else. Brocollis and cookies.

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5'6.5", 128 pounds after heavy lunch, and I feel myself craving to see the number getting lower, lower, low.

I hope to never, ever be 'addicted' to the taste of peanut butter or oils because that'll be so fucked up.

Clubs and Clubs