My Mathematical Assumption

It's good to look at my face and not feel skeletal. I always said I weighed 120 lbs. Doctor's forms, driver's license, survey questions, "120" was my default answer.
Most of the time, it wasn't actually true.

I wrote "120" because I knew that was how much I ought to weigh, how much I should weigh. If I weighed 115 lb - or even 114 on a bad day - I knew it was only a phase. That I'd get back to my usual 117 soon. I came to acknowledge that light days and low energy was part of my life. That if my skin stretched taught between my cheekbones and jaw, well, it was just a bad spell. I'd wash my dishes soon. I cook another big meal soon. Soon could be next month, or two months down the road though. I'd run some hot water in my sewer pond of a sink and wash a fork to cook some eggs or swirl my pasta. Tuna and relish, pineapple and cottage cheese, pasta, rice, and pasta. I don't write this for sympathy. I write this for myself.

This was my life; and I thought it was normal

I was wrong. It's normal to cook once or twice a week. To wash the cooking pan before finishing eating the food that was cooked in it.  To have a jiggle on the belly. Normal and healthy. I need to check my quiche.