It's that time again. Time to stop pretending eating nothing but carbs is okay. Time to stop pretending I am comfortable with my back fat. Time to stop. Eating. Candy.
I love candy. I love chocolate. I love cheese bagels and Skor lattes. I love vodka.
They love me too. I've given them a very comfortable home on my back, my belly and my thighs. They just sit there, real nonchalant like. And a little has even found it's way to my fingers. My rings are getting too tight. That's where I draw the line. I refuse to be Angela of the chubby fingers. You can't disguise fat fingers with a well cut jacket or pair of jeans. They are just out there for all the world to see. So when you're dipping your yam fries into your Chipotle dip people just judge and wonder why you, Sausage Fingers, continues to ride the Carb Conga Line like it's no big deal.
So today it's back on. No candy. No chocolate.
I'm fucking starving.
I had some soup and a sandwich for supper. I ate a banana. Some watermelon. A cheese bagel (fuck off, I'm starting off slowly). And coffee. Oh and a piece of cheese. Some of you are thinking I should've eaten more today, trust me I'm fine. Except I'm hungry now and tired and want nothing more than to go to 7-11 and get a bag of the five cent candies I so clearly deserve. Instead, as soon as I'm done writing this, I'm going to go make myself a bag of SmartPop. 100 calories of dry as a fucking bone popcorn. Yum.
Well, I kind of like it. I've never been one for flavour and so bland doesn't really bother me. The lack of sugar does. God I love sugar. I'm a sugar addict of the truest form. Sugar is my queen. My Private Dancer, Part-Time Lover and when I Think About It I....never mind, that's taking it a step too far.
I like sugar. Maybe that's all that needs to be said.
And I'm hungry. That needs to be said again.
So here we go, this should provide you, the people, with some entertainment over the coming days, weeks or months, or however long I manage to stick this out. I plan to start working out again too. After not having done so for the last year. So that should be fun and easy and really comfortable and encouraging.
Or I'll want to die a slow death and hurt those who choose to try and make small talk while my muscles and lungs scream.