"Yeah, toast!" -Heywood Banks

I am still struggling. I'm getting very tired of fighting off panic. I'm sure that what happened earlier was related to my reflux, and that I'm not *really* sick, but I feel bad and as time goes on I am getting more and more anxious. It's dumb. I'm tired of it. Did I say that already?

Things are getting to the point where I'm having more and more trouble concentrating, which is normally not a good sign. I'm doing my best to remain in control, though. I'm working on trying to eat a piece of toast (my stomach is completely empty and my blood sugar is beginning to go a little off, and I tried to eat some applesauce but it tasted bad. That might have just been because I've gone through so many wintergreen lifesavers in the past several hours, my tastebuds are a bit tainted. And...I've had to give up on the toast now. It was choking me. Very depressing. It tasted pretty good. Maybe I'll just eat the melted peanut butter off it.

Did I mention earlier that I weighed myself today? Well, I did. And assuming there's not a huge discrepancy between my scale and the scale at the doctor's office (which I visited at the end of May), supposedly I've lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 27 lbs. Except for the fact that my denim shorts are extremely baggy now, you can't really tell, I don't think. Still. Weight loss is good for me. Granted, I'd rather go about it using my own willpower and not because for several weeks eating has been difficult. But still.

I'm going back to licking the peanut butter off this piece of toast (aren't you glad I shared that with you?) Maybe I'll go to bed soon. I'm still deciding.