There's a light that never goes out

I was planning that the title for this blog would be "12 days and 13 pounds later". But then I thought people might think I'm talking about drugs and I don't want y'all to think I'm running a side business while I'm off work. Or maybe I do if you can send me your money in some untraceable way and don't know where I live so when you find out I don't actually have drugs to send to you, you can't hunt me down and beat me up. I think though that maybe (and this is all I learned from Pulp Fiction besides how to dance like Uma Thurman) real drug dealers say "grams". Nope, I take that back, on Breaking Bad I'm pretty sure they talked in pounds. They were pretty badass though. 

So back to the beginning. I've been home for about 12 days now and lost 13 pounds. I know I could have used to lose a few pounds, but when I put on my favorite jeans, the ones I've had since I was actually in my 20s for real and they were falling off me I wanted to cry. So I did. Because replacing jeans is very expensive. And I'm in a place where I think it's ok to cry when I want to. 

I've also been listening to the Smiths too much and that's why I still believe there's a light that never goes out. I wanted to go back to work tomorrow. I'm an overachieving A-type personality. I don't do well staying home and watching Netflix. It's driving me almost as crazy as the anti-anxiety medication. 

This is just another hurdle to jump over. And I can. You can too. The light may flicker for awhile. But it doesn't go out. We'll be ok. 

My awesome co-worker sent me this today: 

And I'll tell you the truth, a more than 27 year old girl cuddled all afternoon with her teddy bear.

The light doesn't go out until we turn it off. 

Sullivan out.