Cravings can drive a person absolutely mad. Lately I have been, as the boyfriend put it, “in the doldrums.” My fascist diet energy has faded, and in its place I’ve found a dicey urge to eat cookies.
Yesterday I wandered there again. After having four hours sleep in two and a half days, writing eight pages of essays, taking two exams and waiting three and a half hours for an intern who decided to take the afternoon off, I found myself standing in the grocery store, lost and listless, waiting for a mediocre quality baked good to take my hand, fill me up and tuck me into bed.
Luckily (I guess), I was so defeated that I didn’t even have the energy to cheat. I drove home and passed out instead, waking up five hours later to piece together another assignment. Today will be a better day for it, but these passing cravings do take their toll.
Last week the boyfriend and I had cheesecake, cookies and ice cream. It was the kind of shindig that only true children of obesity could get down with; the two of us standing at the register, buying $30 of sweets and trying not to look any clerks in the eye. The food was okay, but it didn’t solve any of our problems. The next day I felt as puffy as if I had been out binge drinking, but not half as interesting. I didn’t lose any weight on Friday, and the scale showed a 0.4 pound gain.
Now I’m saying no to the bakery, and when I have eight hours of sleep tucked away, I’m going to hit the gym. Because nothing tastes as good as thin.
Oh, and if we have a nice loss this week, on Friday we’re going to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner. It’s going to be a weekly thing, and we have a list of low-carb restaurants to visit. That’s what I call motivation.
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