off we go to the middle of the floor.

I found this image on some random family-oriented website with the following text: I love having company almost as much as I love being company.

I guess you could say I feel exactly the same way.

Though, I should probably mention that I hate being company.

I'm what my mother likes to call anti-social. No, not in the psychology sense; I know perfectly well the difference between right and wrong and I recognize and often obey the rules of society. I'm no sociopath. No, instead, I'm what the experts politely refer to as "introverted."

I don't like company.

I don't have many friends because I don't need many friends. In fact, I find having friends to be expensive, annoying, and an all around pain in the ass. I know, it makes me a really bad friend, but I'm well aware of that and I don't expect much from my friends in return. It works out quite well for me, actually.

I'm anal retentive and I was pretty much raised as an only child so the idea of having friends/visitors/pests (however you choose to title them) in my home drives me batshit crazy. I don't like to share and I don't like things being out of order, so you can imagine my blood pressure going through the roof this weekend as boyfriend and I hosted a party for our friends. Oh, and we've had an overnight guest all weekend.

I don't think it should come as a surprise to anyone how absolutely out of control I feel these days. Our routine went out the window, I've been eating like shit and getting precisely 0.0 minutes of exercise daily, I haven't napped on my favorite couch since Thursday, and even worse... when I went out to the balcony to water my plants and grab a few minutes of solitude, there were BOYS using my bistro set. BOYS!

I feel as if I have been robbed. I've lost my sense of calm and normalcy, control and order, I've been stripped of my ability to appreciate the stillness that fills the moments that I get to share with nothing but my thoughts.

In times like these, I tend to overcompensate. Usually with food. Someone smeared something black all over one of my chair covers and I turned to a cookies-n-cream mini cupcake to keep myself from lashing out. I immediately regretted my decision and proceeded to compensate for my loss of control by Febreezing all the fabrics in sight. I've spent the whole weekend chasing behind people with scented Lysol and a garbage bag trying to maintain control of my surroundings, because that has always appealed to me more than being part of the festivities.

No one's ever accused me of being the life of the party.

The reason I mention control isn't to give you the impression that I'm a tidy maniac. It's because my control issues have been at the center of my food issues my whole life. These days I'm much better about rationalizing and I'm usually able to talk myself out of a binge before it happens, but every once in a while I lose my shit and the only thing that can keep me from turning into a puddle of hyperventilating flesh on the floor is food. Food, stupid food. Sugar, nine times out of ten, but in a pinch just about anything will do.

I worry about my future weight loss not because I'm incapable of losing weight, but because I'm literally incapable of being in control 100% of the time. Life just won't allow it, that bitch must have a wicked sense of humor. I know I'm smarter, and stronger, than my impulses, but the kind of life I want live involves throwing lots of parties (full disclosure: I love planning parties, I just can't enjoy them, that's why my party-loving boyfriend is my better half). On a good day, I find a motivational song and a comfy pair of Vibrams to run my frustrations out of my system, but I aspire to be a functioning adult who can handle social situations without literally running in the opposite direction. Running away can't be my only solution to situational stress.

This weekend was a test in coping skills, and this week on the scale will be a test in motivation. I honestly have no idea where my weight is as after this weekend, but if my coping mechanism is any indication, it can't be pretty.