I balance carefully on one bare foot as I strip off my last sock. My clothes skulk on the floor, dropped in a careless pile so as to keep them from influencing the readout on my arch-nemesis, the scale. I give it a little kick to activate its neon blue screen.
A string of zeros mock me. We know what you ate last night, they blink. We know about that empty carton in the trash, congealed bits of Cherry Garcia stuck to the rim.
“Fuck you,” I mutter as I climb aboard.
The numbers twitch and stutter under me like small mammals crushed under the tread of a massive vehicle. They come to a stop and I record them on the narrow lines of my notebook, pencil stub gripped more tightly than necessary.
The column of numbers, gathered over a year of days, whispers at me in disgust.
*6/3/17 RRWG Speed Writing – from the prompt “balance, gluttony, sanity”