Wednesday night writing. Episode 1.

Today was strange. This whole “you can’t drive” thing is really starting to get to me. Today I almost cracked.
I thought,
“I’ll just go out, go anywhere, I’ll go for a ride around the fucking block, no one can stop me!”
I thought about how when I get my license back I am taking off on an aimless road trip by myself.
I thought about the cute girl at Maddy’s party who I subsequently thought I should not be thinking about which really only lead me down a path of thinking of nothing else but the cute girl at Maddy’s party until I started thinking about ATCB. Or at least trying to.
The other day was strangely warm for January and the weather lit up the dangerous part of me that wants to run around in the sun, abandon all my obligations, and fly off to Paris. Alone.
He said to me,
“Why do you talk like that?”
I have to explain to him that my comments are based on statistical support and empirical evidence that have led me to a life of cynicism. I love you, but chances are that this is nothing to fall under the category of be-all-end-all. If there even is such a category.
Being on a diet is half empowering and half soul-crushing. I am doing well but the fact is almost all the time I am at least a teeny bit hungry, and thus a teeny bit cranky. This will go away as I learn to plan out my days better. It’s almost impossible not to find myself a bit angry when I am staring at the incredible-shrinking man as he lays in bed plotting his breakfast and flexing his muscles when he laughs. Do you want two eggs, or three? You skinny asshole.
I am thinking I should start renting out my father as a diet aid for women. He will eat almost anything that comes across his path. This is usually how our interactions start, he will say:
“What’s that you have there?
“Low-fat high-fiber high-protein mac-and-cheese”
“Can I have a bite?”
“No. It’s portioned and I’m carefully counting calories. There is some in the pantry if you want to make some.”
“You’re gonna make me dinner? Good. Good.”
“No. I said you could make some.”
“What, you don’t love your fathah? You don’t want to make him dinnah? What is this?! This is just another sign that the Taliban is going to win.”
“FINE. Here. Eat it.”
At this rate, all I have to do is not stand up to him and I’ll reach my goal in no time.