I didn’t crawl out of bed this morning until restlessness just about killed me. When I saw the clock, I knew why. It was past 11a. Holy crap! I baked an Italian sausage breakfast casserole (ingredients: 4 slices wheat bread, 4 de-skinned Italian sausages which I sauteed without oil and drained the grease from, 5 eggs, 1 cup milk, salt and pepper, 1/3 cup mixed grated cheeses) for Mr. W, his daughter and me, and since then, haven’t done much but watch TV. I’ve discovered that if I watch a jewelry shopping channel waiting for a gorgeous natural Alexandrite ring to come up for sale, I end up munching on raw almonds, red potato chips, grapefruit, dark chocolate truffles (2), apple. Not good. But if I watch a reality show marathon of The Next Pussycat Doll and see 8 young beautiful girls work their asses off on looking hot and getting the intense choreography in order to keep from elimination, all I put in my mouth is water. And I feel just fat and ugly enough when I look at my still-pajama-clad makeup-less form in the mirror, to not put anything else down the piehole. What is wrong with me? Why am I binging like I’m PMSing? I’ve found myself these couple of days to also be short-tempered and low in tolerance just like I’m PMSing. Maybe it’s not PMS. Maybe I’m just an irrate bitch. Hmm. That’s a new perspective. Okay, fine, it’s not new.