Maybe I should start with heroin
Were you to know me, you would know that when I clean my house I’m procrastinating something. Today I have totally been a white tornado of clean, tearing my house apart in search of rogue specks of dust, cat litter, farm animals - anything I can find that might need a touch up or a routing out.
I am set to start self-injections of HCG this week, and I am terrified. I was excited to start the protocol until I read about what can happen if you fail to correctly aspirate a needle. Like coma and death. Or if the needle breaks while inside you. Somehow I don’t think Walmart sells intramuscular tweezers.
Now I am willing to do a great many things in the name of weight loss, but dying isn’t one of them. The riskiest fad I engaged in toward this end previous to this was chocolate Ex-Lax back in high school. Oh, and bulimia. And fasting for 3 weeks when the guy I was seeing in college left me for someone 200lbs heavier than me (which made no sense for me to do that but it felt good at the time. Curiously, I googled that woman recently. She is now quite thin. And quite gay. Thanks, Mike!)
But shooting up hormones into my leg is seriouser, even though I hear people have been doing it with success for over fifty years. I know I need to sit down and read everything I can about proper mixing and injecting, and let the confusing IU’s and cc’s and ml’s dance around my brain until the measurements stick to one of my neurons. And I will. I just need to do some laundry. And wash the bathtub. And give the cat an enema. Everything needs to be clean around here.
I do want to send a shout out to my new HCG friend Susan, who like me was on the Horror Diet for years. High carb. Low carb. Raw food. Cooked food. Low cal. Low fat. She too had done it all, and found weight loss just out of reach. Now, on her 11th day of hcg, she’s lost 11 lbs., and feeling wonderful. Hats off to you, ya big loser, you!
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