jeans blues

I haven’t been able to wear my jeans for six weeks. I miss them. Or at least the idea of them.

I have been watching the Gilmore Girls today, and now I want nothing more than to be able to put on jeans and look young and sexy and go drink a glass of wine with my girlfriends, or go to an ivy league and wear boots and short skirts and read books and hang out by the coffee cart. But I can’t put on jeans, I can’t have a glass of wine, I can’t even have a sandwich (not supposed to have any deli meats), I’m tired of being hungry all the time, I’m bored of all foods, and my girlfriends don’t live here, and I’m never going to be young and sexy again, and I’m never going to go to Yale or get my PhD. Instead, I’m just going to get a fat face and swollen ankles, and then for the next thirty years (ok, I realize it’s for the rest of my life, not just until they move out), I’m going to be mom. I don’t feel like a mom.