Now I know my bmr and bmi.
I calculated them by myself.
My exact bmi (weight is 55 height is 160), is 21.484375.
Nice.
It's just kg/cm/cm•10,000.
You divide your weight in kg by your height in cm (55/160=0.34375), then you do it again (0.34375/160=0.0021484375) and then you multiply it by ten thousand (0.0021484375•10,000=21.484375)
I'm a machine.
A fucking calculator.
Why am I so proud and why do I claim to be one?
Because I already made all the BMI's for all the weight options.
I have underweight (which is 44.8 kg, BMI 17.5) overweight (64 kg, BMI 25), my current weight (55 kg, BMI 21.484375), and I'll verify them later, maybe on the few minutes I have in home.
My day's schedule is finishing at three, then going to buy low cal energy drink and gum or mints or something, then, stay in the stadium, on four I'm in the practice, and around at five I'm finishing it, by 5:45 I'm hundred precent home.
Until 6:15 I finished showering.
At six thirty I'm going to Yoav's apartment for making the ballads movie (along with other kids).
Until eight thirty I'm home.
I'm drawing/ blogging/ googling/ hiding/ weighing/ drinking/ other until nine thirty.
Nine thirty in bed, waiting for tomorrow.
Tomorrow, waking up early and weighing myself again.
I'll obviously write my weight in here and on MPA.
....
Great, a fucking mood change under two minutes flat.
I was happy, I completed 2 kilometer run (1km, 5min rest, 1km), but then, I've been told that I'll have to continue with the usuals, that I can't continue with Yael.
Why do I always let myself to be happy before time?
I feel like I'm always wrong.
Nothing will never be okay with me, I guess.
Nothing is ever okay.
Who even adapted this word to every little occasion?
Nothing is okay with the fact that my ankle is aching, it wants so bad a cut, a burn, any kind of long-lasting punishment.
Nothing is okay with the fact that I weigh 55 kilograms.
Nothing is okay with the fact that I have solutions if everything.
Nothing is okay that I'm obsessed with math, and calculating for more than two hours (120 minutes, it's pretty much 3 school hours), BMI, and BMR, and calories, and weight.
Nothing is okay with the fact that I always start to do what I want, and then, scared and go back to hide in my closet of desires.
I'm a fucking monster.
Like in Rihanna's music (it was played a minute ago in Maya's uncle's car), in drowning my real self, and she deals with it, getting along with the freak.
...
I'm in my room.
Sad.
My scale says 55.
I really hope it's just the food weight.
I'll check again after I'll wake up.
I want a hug.
Can somebody volunteer?
Well, if you just did, then, can I get it in around ten years or so?
After army, while welcoming you, for living together with me.
We are a family, you know.
Not blood-related (unless my alien powers are sending waves to you), but we actually understand, or willing to, or just came here by accident.
I'm all of it, if thinking about it.
...
Well I have two (or three if considering the first one for two because it have two things) things to say and show and write.
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Like it?
The blonde one I finished just now!
I'm starting something new soon.
And now the second thing.
I will never understand psychologists.
Espacially preteen-teen-young-adults psychologists.
Sweeties, the children themselves can't figure out their lives or their own personallity, so how are you supposed to?
You are nothing but a comfort for parents.
Bored by your lives.
...
I found another weird habit of mine.
It's weird (in a somewhat good way), but it's better for me.
Like, a one thing that attracts me in binges, is the playing with the silverware afterwards.
I actually consider making ones, because explaining why you have an expensive brand's knife, is never good for me, or for my worried mother, or hysterric about injuries father.
I'd like to design a fork, or a knife, I don't like spoons, unless they are long, thin, gentle teaspoons.
Maybe I'll buy some and enjoy ruining them, painting them, curving them, and carving into them.
We'll see.
I can always visit shops, in my way back home, tomorrow is good.
...
I'm in my room.
Sad.
My scale says 55.
I really hope it's just the food weight.
I'll check again after I'll wake up.
I want a hug.
Can somebody volunteer?
Well, if you just did, then, can I get it in around ten years or so?
After army, while welcoming you, for living together with me.
We are a family, you know.
Not blood-related (unless my alien powers are sending waves to you), but we actually understand, or willing to, or just came here by accident.
I'm all of it, if thinking about it.
...
Well I have two (or three if considering the first one for two because it have two things) things to say and show and write.
Like it?
The blonde one I finished just now!
I'm starting something new soon.
And now the second thing.
I will never understand psychologists.
Espacially preteen-teen-young-adults psychologists.
Sweeties, the children themselves can't figure out their lives or their own personallity, so how are you supposed to?
You are nothing but a comfort for parents.
Bored by your lives.
...
I found another weird habit of mine.
It's weird (in a somewhat good way), but it's better for me.
Like, a one thing that attracts me in binges, is the playing with the silverware afterwards.
I actually consider making ones, because explaining why you have an expensive brand's knife, is never good for me, or for my worried mother, or hysterric about injuries father.
I'd like to design a fork, or a knife, I don't like spoons, unless they are long, thin, gentle teaspoons.
Maybe I'll buy some and enjoy ruining them, painting them, curving them, and carving into them.
We'll see.
I can always visit shops, in my way back home, tomorrow is good.
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