Today is not a good day. It is my own fault of course ~ I thought I had lost weight so I stood on the scales. Once again my number was way higher than I wanted it to be and it brought all my darkest fears to the surface once again. My mind keeps telling me, "Of course this will never work!" I FEEL LIKE THE SPECIAL NEEDS KID IN CLASS I no longer feel like I am part of the 'in' crowd. I don't have a gang to hang out with. I feel like I have gone weird and no-one wants to play with me anymore. If I'm not blogging about how much weight I've lost or how I've fallen head first into a binge then no-one seems to care. IT IS SO FUCKING SLOW I have been 'off' diet for nearly 2 months and I am still figuring things out. I haven't lost any weight even though my intention is to drop a few kilos. I swing from perfectly happy to confused and bewildered for no apparent reason. I just want to be fixed. I want to easily achieve my naturally slender body and I want it NOW thank you very much. I MISS MY OLD LIFE When I was a very small child I used to suck my thumb. Once I stopped and I got braces my mouth shape was totally different and my thumb never fit properly again. I can still remember the comforting sensation of sucking my thumb that has now is gone forever. Same thing with my old life. I miss the control, I miss the joy of a low scale number and I miss the pride in winning against all the odds. I know it is only because I forgotten the pain but my old life was familiar and predicitable and this one isn't. I HAVE NOWHERE ELSE TO GO It is clear that dieting will never be a long term solution for managing my weight as I have proven over and over again in the past 5 years, so if listening to my body doesn't work either, then I'll have nowhere else to go except blobsville. I feel like this is my last chance and I'm stuffing it up. After she reads this story, what will she do? A. Step on the scale to confirm her weight. B. not enough information C. Diet her self thin. D. Post it on her blog.
C

Roland felt his stomach knotting. Having ridden out of the city through the Saint-Denis Gate, he now was nearly home, and the hurt inside was cutting so deep that he thought it would drive him mad. He repeated again and again the pledge he had just made to Nicolette: I am your true troubadour, now and forever. It felt like a knife stabbing into him. I do love her, as I have not loved any other - except Diane. Under his fur-lined mantle he was sweating, despite the bone-deep chill of the January night. Was my pledge to Nicolette a lie? No, not now that Diane has vowed herself to God. He had always believed that a man or a woman could love but one person. For all the years he had loved Diane, he had accepted that as a sacred law of Love. It was the way things should be. But it was not the way they were. Not for him. What if I had known, that day I saw Nicolette at Chinon, that Diane was still alive? I would have wanted Nicolette just as much, but would not have begun this. There would have been no messages, no song in her garden. But I was sure Diane was dead. There was nothing but a memory of a younger time to check my feelings for Nicolette. And then, when I found Diane again, I could not have her. I had lost her forever. So at last I wrote again to Nicolette. But tonight, when Nicolette would have let me make love to her - and how I want her! - I could not go beyond an embrace and a kiss. Not as long as I still love Diane. When he had set out, a full moon had hung low above the huddled rooftops of the university town. Now the silver disk was high overhead, and he could discern the small house he had bought two years ago with money he brought with him from Sicily. Who did Roland pledged his love to? A. Diane B. Nicolette C. not enough information D. God
B

Michael Morzeny put his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and hugged the fabric tighter around his body. The winter wind hurried down Columbus Avenue and the hem of his coat flapped around his knees letting little pockets of cold waft up to invade the warmth his body had spent so much time preparing and storing around his torso. With a bitter squeeze of his hands, his knuckles now getting cold, Morzeny bowed his square shoulders to the wind and continued walking. At sixty-seven years old the New York winters bothered Morzeny more than he cared to admit. And, although no doctor would admit it to him, he was positive that the first faint hints of arthritis tweaking through his hands were made worse by the cold. At every cross street the setting sun flashed through to the avenue in shades of crisp pink and red. Morzeny didn't want to be working right now. But these outings were the price he paid for having a hybrid job, owning buildings and brokering as many of his own leases as possible. When he had first come to the city he had been told that he needed a job, not for income, his providers took care of that, but for his own sanity. Something to keep him going. He had asked for something in real estate and had never bothered to wonder what other paths he might have taken. He had always been able to focus to the point of blindness. It helped him in every aspect of his work. He arrived at the brownstone building housing the apartment he was to show tonight. His building was tucked into a short row of buildings that squatted over the street, their steps reaching towards the curb like stunted growths. More to prove to himself that he could do it than anything else, Morzeny took the front steps two at a time. What is most likely true about Morzeny? A. He does not have a car B. not enough information C. He will never retire D. He likes the snow
A