Partaking of the Fruit in the Garden of Brieden

Welcome to my life:

Yours truly: coming along swimmingly. I am at a healthy body weight for the first time since August of 2005, and trying desperately to get used to it. I still work at [Unidentified] Insurance Company, devour books, hate cooking, and give myself a mani/pedi every Thursday afternoon. I’m working on exploring other variables to the complicated This is Brie equation, while simultaneously nipping the THIS IS ME LOOK AT ME I’M BRIE I HAVE AN EATING DISORDER! HOLLER! equation in the butt. Parenthetically, I was about to say “nipping the THIS IS ME LOOK AT ME I’M BRIE I HAVE AN EATING DISORDER! HOLLER! equation in the BUD, but that would have implied that I was putting an end to the problem before it really, you know, BLOOMED, and that would have been a big fat nasty LIESIES because this problem has budded and bloomed and thrived and then died and then budded and become re-born and bloomed all over again, for, like, many a moon. My oh my I have cultivated quite the garden. End parentheses.

I’m so confuzzled from my parentheses rant. If you got through that paragraph without getting dumber, I congratulate you. Heartily.

I’m doing really awesome in therapy. And I can talk about this because it really doesn’t even have much to do with my ED. Honestly – I’m finally doing work that’s been needing to get done for a long time, ED or not. I’ve put in quite the commitment to therapy and dietary and group therapy, and am there four times/week, so it is indeed quite the time suck, but something obviously must be working, so I’m not going to question it, but rather THANK IT, for giving me back my life and my sanity and some semblance of normalcy. If “normal” and “Brie” can ever be in the same sentence, that is.

Brandon: Big B is doing quite well. He got a job – all thanks to his mad skills and my amazing friend K and Blogxygen – and thinks it’ll be a good fit for him. He works at [Unidentified] Computer Technology Place, and, at the moment, since the whole job is new to him, feels like a little Nemo with a retarded fin in a big big big vast ocean. HOWEVA the pay is good, the insurance even better, PLUS they give us a free Costco membership, so how can we really be complaining? He’s still slaving away in school and hopes to get his degree by the end of next year. I sometimes feel faint when I think of all the time he still has left, and I’m like BE STILL MY SOUL, patience is a virtue, blah blah blah yakkity schmakkity. AT ANY RATE I love Husband and am proud of him for how hard he works. He’s a trooper and I love his little retarded fin. One of these days he’ll be higher on the food chain, and hopefully earning a meatier (pun intended) salary.

What is with me today? This post is weirder, if that’s possible, than most.

Cade: My mini man is doing so well, guys. You’d love him – I need to post pics soon so you can see how much my guy has grown! He is obsessed with Iron Man and pretend-shooting anything that moves. Or doesn't.  He’s, like, full-time potty trained, but you need to watch it because he’ll go alllllll day without pizzling if you let him – he still HATES the urinating and will avoid it at all costs. He still has those sadly hopeful gray/blue eyes, framed with long lashes and that dimple in his left cheek that just melts my heart. He’s almost 4 now – can you believe I have a 4 year old?!? And he’s big and growing and learning so fast. I’m excited to be enrolling him in preschool in the Fall to see him develop a bit more socially, which is where he still seems to be lacking skillzzz. My boy is NOT a people person. But don’t judge.

The fat cats: Bobbi and Hairy are doing well, and getting fatter. HONESTLY YOU GUYS I don’t know how they are…I don’t overfeed them – I’d never do that to them! – but yet they still get curvier and butter-ballier as the days go by. Sometimes I wake up at night, hearing snoring, and kick Big B (HARD) only to realize that it’s Bobbi, down at the foot of the bed, snoring away like some freaking cave troll or something. I think the fat is starting to suffocate her lungs, or something. And Hairy’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You know how I love to think of dirty nick names for her, or whisper sweet nothings in her ear? The other day I came up with what is sure to be a classic, forever remembered in the annals of Breivik Family History: “Oh Hairy,” I said, breathlessly, with wide eyes and an open heart, “I’m so smitten with your tittens.” Cue Hairy purring to a crescendo and Brandon muttering racist cat insults under his breath…

I bet you REALLY wanted to know all this, huh?