Her Wits End

For the past few weeks, I have put myself on a diet. I have gained way, way too much weight. I’ve been counting my calories, and watching the percentage of fat from those calories. It pretty much means that I’m starving since I’m lazy and don’t want to work out. I’ve lost a few pounds, but not much. It doesn’t help that my water intake is irregular. Maybe that’s it. The other thing is that I have been in a crappy mood for the past few weeks. Not depressed or particularly irritable but not my normal chipper self.

Today I woke up feeling horrible, physically that is. Thanks Derrick and Leah by the way. I felt almost motion sick. I drank a bottle of water and felt fine. Then later on in the day, the wanting to barf reappeared. I had no headache, no congestion. No other problems, other than my spastic belly. I soon found that eating something made it feel so much better. I only ate a handful here and there as to not injure my diet too badly. I call Brett and whine, and he suggests heating up the pizza in the freezer. I’m not really excited about it but I do it.

Out comes the pizza. It doesn’t smell like much of anything. I crack open a can of olives and then, there it was. A moment of weakness. No! Half of the pizza is on my plate. I don’t have to eat all of it, but my will power becomes reluctant. I’m going to eat it all. (Yay!) As I’m eating it doesn’t taste like anything I expected. It’s kinda bland. Maybe it’s been so long that they changed the recipe. Even though I find the experience mediocre, I continue to eat it all. Everything but one olive is gone. After I’m done, I decide that today was a good day.

Why is it that despite my malcontent the entire day, I decide that the day went well? It’s because I’m fat, that’s why. I have not had that much grease or cheese at one time in a while. I knew that eating yummy things is almost equal to doing drugs. Well, at least chemically in your brain that is. So I have come to the conclusion that I am a grease addict. The first step is admittance, right?