the amateur

Not going to lie, September is kind of kicking my ass. 

So, out of the 8 readers of my blog I email with most of you semi-regularly, so I've probably told you about C. And the other person who reads this is his sister, so...she knows (hi Carlye!)

But for those of you that I haven't emailed lately (sorry!)....this is Chris. Or C, as I've been referring to him here lately.

In short, he's smart and handsome and kind and makes me laugh.

In long (not an actual phrase), he's the peanut butter to my jelly, the guy who rescues me from bats in my apartment, who checks for criminals when I call him in the middle of the night scared. He's the guy who opens my car door every time, surprised me with concert tickets, and listens when I vent. He's the most unselfish person I've ever met, and he makes me happier than I've ever been. When I ask him to tell me something funny, he always has something to tell. He loves bananas. And doesn't mind when I make him take a million couple selfies because I always think I look weird. He's handy and he loves Midas, and he made a pact to never tickle me.

Never in my life did I think I'd be so lucky. Never in my life do I think I'll be able to be as wonderful as he thinks I am. But I am willing to spend every day trying.

(or, your average Monday night)

Sunday nights are rough for me (Chris can attest to this). I love my job, but it's such an adjustment every Monday to go back to work and be without the man for two days (yup, I'm that sappy).

But by Monday afternoon, I have made an ambitious list of what I'll do that night. Usually it's working out, grocery shopping, laundry, and cooking for the week.

Know what I end up doing? Watching last week's Pretty Little Liars and maybe doing a load of laundry.

And tonight was no different, although I did force myself to make some chicken to put in a sandwich tomorrow. At least I made a grocery list. That counts, right?

Oh, and there may have been a secret stealthy stop to Chris's apartment to leave a treat.

I made new friends! C already knew them, but they're new to me so it counts. They're lovely and different and I can't wait to get to know them better.

But that's not what this post is about. It's about how I had them over for dinner and what I made.

A certain someone I know has this one phrase he uses...'getting out of' things. For example, he has an iPad to read on because he's 'getting out of books'. And he got rid of all his tshirts with logos on them because he's 'getting out of print'.

It's kind of a lame joke, but it makes me laugh.

I decided to get out of numbers. Specifically, numbers on the scale. Specifically, my weight.

Remember that mini meltdown I had? That night I chose my mental health over a number. And I feel so. much. better. It's really refreshing to not know what I weigh, and not care about it. I want to focus on feeling healthy, not skinny. On being strong, not thin. On being balanced in what I eat, instead of exclusive.

Honestly, self acceptance is more challenging than any diet for me, but I'm excited.