Here I am.
I was referred to as a poster child for mental illness in the comments section of this blog (which I actually really enjoy reading) because I believe that stress at work made me eat. I’m also crazy because I believe that I was addicted to fast food.
I know, I know. I’m insane. I’m ape-shit-crazy. I’ve worked in Human Resources in the insurance & pharmaceutical industries over twelve years — two industries that have laid off more people than occupy most towns — and I’m all insane with my beliefs that my body became dependent upon sugar, fats and salt to keep itself going through those tremendously difficult times.
Look at me being all girl interrupted & shit.
Then I started thinking about my life and, well, I might be insane. I’ve had three haircuts in the past six weeks. I’ve spent more time on the internets looking at different haircuts — and I’ve spent more money on haircuts than food in the past 45 days — and only now (after the third cut) am I finally satisfied.
Some might say that I need medication and intensive, in-patient therapy. I’m thinking that I need another day at the spa and possibly a manicure & pedicure to go with this new haircut.