Last night I finished off the bottle of Nyquil and passed out into a deep and dreamless sleep. Thankfully. I took too much, though, and woke up dizzy and headache-y. Sounds were too loud. I just wanted to sleep more. I suppose this is what being hungover would feel like. Not that I haven't been drunk. I have. I'm just really lucky. So I had an orange, a tiny pancake from last night, and drank a ton of water. I feel better now, so it's whatever.
I'm back down to 149. A weekend to put on three pounds, a week to take it back off. I can eat 1200 calories a day, but no more binging and foregoing calorie counting completely. My chest hurts, and I'm starving, so I guess my metabolism is up and running. It's going to be a good day. I will make it a good day if it kills me.
Edit: I mentioned in last night's post that I bought on a pair of jeans that were a size too small (Junior's 11) at the thrift store for motivation. I was hungry, so I decided to try to attempt to pull them over my thunder thighs so I wouldn't feel like eating anymore. And they fit. Well then. They're a bit snug around the waist, and the muffin top makes me dreadfully self-conscious, but they fit. Hell to the yes.