I'm having lunch in my cube. Lunch today is half a bag of Trader Joe's soy chips. Mostly this is because I'll get weighed at the doctor's office this afternoon, something I never do because it makes me obsessive. Or more accurately, I am obsessive, and so I never weigh myself. Last spring I went to the GYN for an annual visit, and I was seven pounds heavier than the prior year. I'm only 5'3 and 1/4" tall! Seven pounds! It ruined my week, my month. I told everyone I knew, everyone I met. "Hi, I'm Lisa. I weigh seven pounds more than I did a year ago." Very smooth way to introduce yourself.
The problem with knowing my weight is twofold. If I'm heavy, it will bum me out and I will seek solace in chocolate. But if I'm skinny, I'll feel like I have the leeway to eat more. Yes, this is fucked up. I know.
After lunch I'm going to see Dr. Patel, who I thought might be a hot Indian doctor. He turns out to be a very nice, nerdy little man with a big adam's apple. The first time I saw him, he asked me how old I was. I told him and then asked him how old he is. He flinched, but answered. It kind of made me hope he was going to ask about my sexual history, but he didn't.