The Food Train stops rolling Jan. 2.
I have been eating like my jaw was just unwired after two years. Like my life depends on it. Like I'm getting paid for it. (Not quite like I'm getting paid for it, since I get paid for coming to work, but instead I'm on LIW. So not like that.)
For lunch, I just had a hero the size of a large house cat. You could seriously float about 7 Cubans over to Florida on the sandwich I just ate. And I'm alone in my corner at work, so I was a complete mess, like a puma over a kill, only instead of blood on my paws, there was pesto.
It's not like I'm getting married in TWO DAYS LESS THAN THREE MONTHS. It's not like I have to wear a white dress in front of everyone I know. It's like it's not even a reality to me, and I can't be stopped.
First I was saying to myself, okay. Start again in earnest on the 1st. Then the realization sets in that we don't have work on the 1st, and it's a national holiday, and according to the National / International / Maritime Rules of Dieting (or NIMROD), it's a violation of policy to commence dieting on a national holiday. Besides that, isn't there some sort of rule that you have to eat pork on the first of the year? I heard that somewhere. So that just won't work.
So I'm starting on the 2nd. I have yet to decide the method of said diet, but I will try to keep a daily log on here about the progress, failures, tears and dreams of the journey.
Please join me in the daily celebration of denial, cravings, and lashing-out to those closest to me who will have to endure my pain. We will call it This Blows '09, and I hope you can all join me. Of course, by Jan 4, I will probably be fetal in a ball under my desk snorting skittles and Pixy Stix. As long as I don't start shooting the hard stuff (Bosco), I will hopefully post. This is my new years goal. If I have to be accountable to someone, it will hopefully help, and I'll be damned if I have to be accountable to anyone I actually KNOW, because all I'll need is one 'Should you really be eating that?' and I'll start a-scalping.
Hail Jillian Michaels, full of grace, please come bless me with some beatings so I can cry, get in touch with my inner thin person, and stop putting bacon on everything I eat. It's not a condiment, for god's sake.
For lunch, I just had a hero the size of a large house cat. You could seriously float about 7 Cubans over to Florida on the sandwich I just ate. And I'm alone in my corner at work, so I was a complete mess, like a puma over a kill, only instead of blood on my paws, there was pesto.
It's not like I'm getting married in TWO DAYS LESS THAN THREE MONTHS. It's not like I have to wear a white dress in front of everyone I know. It's like it's not even a reality to me, and I can't be stopped.
First I was saying to myself, okay. Start again in earnest on the 1st. Then the realization sets in that we don't have work on the 1st, and it's a national holiday, and according to the National / International / Maritime Rules of Dieting (or NIMROD), it's a violation of policy to commence dieting on a national holiday. Besides that, isn't there some sort of rule that you have to eat pork on the first of the year? I heard that somewhere. So that just won't work.
So I'm starting on the 2nd. I have yet to decide the method of said diet, but I will try to keep a daily log on here about the progress, failures, tears and dreams of the journey.
Please join me in the daily celebration of denial, cravings, and lashing-out to those closest to me who will have to endure my pain. We will call it This Blows '09, and I hope you can all join me. Of course, by Jan 4, I will probably be fetal in a ball under my desk snorting skittles and Pixy Stix. As long as I don't start shooting the hard stuff (Bosco), I will hopefully post. This is my new years goal. If I have to be accountable to someone, it will hopefully help, and I'll be damned if I have to be accountable to anyone I actually KNOW, because all I'll need is one 'Should you really be eating that?' and I'll start a-scalping.
Hail Jillian Michaels, full of grace, please come bless me with some beatings so I can cry, get in touch with my inner thin person, and stop putting bacon on everything I eat. It's not a condiment, for god's sake.
