No gluten.
No dairy.
No alcohol.
No flavor.
No fun.
All whole food meals prepared lovingly by… me.
And it was good. I was good. I even found myself enjoying the meals I had initially turned my nose at.
Yesterday however, I ate nothing but pizza. Literally. I ordered a pizza on Sunday night, had a cold slice for breakfast in the morning, 2 more slices in the afternoon, and that was it.
Well, that and the ranch I was dipping it in.
That was all I consumed the entire day.
Today? So far, I’ve had a bowl of life cereal and the last two slices of that pizza. I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to try to venture into more healthy options later on tonight.
This is pretty much indicative of how I’ve been eating for the last few days. Ever since I ended the hunger strike with those evil peanut butter cups that found their way onto my doorstep, the only morsels of food that have graced my lips have been…. Bad. Really bad.
This is not a good move for a girl who has varying levels of stomach upset at pretty much all times. I mean, seriously; do I need to be consuming an entire pizza by myself over the course of 3 days?
Absolutely not.
Do I need to be picking up Reese’s wrappers that I’ve discarded all over the house in a mad sugar binge?
Nope.
Should I really be gnawing on that block of cheese as though it is the last food source on earth?
Heck no.
If this keeps up, I’m going to explode to 200 pounds by my birthday.
And let’s be real; if I have any chance in hell of winning Big Brother (still waiting for the call, but I think we all know it’s coming) I need to be in tip top shape.
Not broken out from greasy foods and strapping my gut tightly into my pants that don’t fit as I roll into the house.
I’ll be the first evicted for sure at this rate.
Not to mention, there isn’t much worse than getting dumped and following it up by getting fat. Seriously, that’s just embarrassing. Under no circumstances can I allow my waist line to expand infinitely, only to run into Mr. Fix-It.
Or the ex for that matter.
In fact, from this point forward, if I ever see either of those men again; I really need to look my best.
Like, jaw on the floor thinking “That was the biggest mistake I ever made” best.
I need to be in “Damn! She looks amazing!” shape.
Not “Damn! She looks like she’s eaten nothing but pizza for days!” shape.
You see the difference here, right?
The problem? I can’t motivate myself to do any better. I’ve lost all my resolve when it comes to eating healthy.
And instead, I’m eating crap. The crappiest crap I can lay my hands on.
It isn’t pretty.
And it needs to stop.
Because that scale in my bathroom is beckoning me. Dying to tell me how much I’ve gained in just the past few days of unhealthy eating. Hoping to point out the extra pounds and mock me. Reminding me that it's not baby weight I'm putting on.
(Courtesy of Google Images)
Something clearly needs to change.
I need to get my motivation back.
I should probably even start working out.
Something. Anything. Just so long as it’s a healthy fixation.
Instead of this unhealthy one I currently have.
On pizza.
And chocolate.
Unfortunately, it’s a short week at work and Friday night is promising to be a good one. I can’t possibly be expected to pull my diet back together just days before New Years. Because you know I'm going to ruin it all over again in the celebrating of 2010 being over (and seriously – I plan on celebrating hard the end of this horrendous year!)
So, I’ll give it another week. Another week of slothfulness and gluttony. Hoping that my skin doesn’t break out too badly, and that my stomach doesn’t expand too vastly.
I’ll step away from the scale for now, not giving it ammunition to hurl at me.
But next week? Oh next week, it’s on. Black beans and avocados’ and grilled chicken all the way.
This week though?
I think I’m craving Taco Bell.
And more peanut butter cups please.
