Hiya, o gorgeous one – yes, you! Last week, I begun this series on dieting. Here are the other episodes if you fancy a catch-up binge:
Dieting is horrible, but necessary. I’m on diet number umpteen now, but this time, the diet has to work. Now that my circle of acquaintances is including more and more people in their forties, a number of my chums are exhibiting bad health issues all of a sudden. This has spurred me on to losing some serious weight. It’s not really an option for me to be crap about it anymore, so this one has to work, and I must not quit after three months.
You will notice that I am not including much exercise in this diet. This is because I hate exercise. It’s painful and boring and overrated. So getting fit will have to wait for another time. This might turn out to be a mistake. We’ll see.
Anyway, here’s the next spasm in the diet journey. READ ON…
After a week of feeling like a sack of shite, you go back to work, but you feel gaunt. You look gaunter. Fat and gaunt is not a good combo.
You’re now in the middle of February, and it seems that everyone else in your office has totally given the fuck up, and lunched the diet. You don’t blame them. If anything, February is worse than January. The weather is awful. Everything is grey. There is no hope on the horizon. Summer is so far away, it might as well be on Mars. Sometimes, you wish you could just have a takeaway, just a bag of chips, just a quick burger. You try to make diet food appealing and fulfilling, but there are some days when you can feel your stomach crying out for food in its keening, wailing voice.
One night, you look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t recognise the person who is looking back at you. No, I’m not kidding, you really don’t. The person in your mirror is a demonic old woman, who stares at you with malevolent intent, and she bares her teeth. On top of everything else, you now have a haunted mirror. Oh, fucking brilliant.
You turn the mirror to face the wall, but you can hear her whispering evil things all night. Demonic chanting can be heard. You are unwilling to allow the haunted mirror to become a portal to another hell-dimension, so you consider calling in an exorcist. Exorcists don’t advertise on Yell.com, and you don’t fancy calling in The Vatican after last time, so you do self-exorcism by taking the mirror to the municipal dump and throwing it into the skip. The old woman beats her fists against the mirror glass and screams as the mirror smashes on a bag of builders rubble. Now you need to buy another mirror to see how fat you are. Plus you are in for a miserable seven years. Still, you have saved on bringing in a sub-contractor, and there are no stains or burn marks on the bedroom carpet.
Satanic mirrors aside, Week Six is the diet in full force. Your observations for the week leave you feeling as though you are merely existing, not living.
1. Can’t face breakfast. Every time you weigh out the 30g of cereal, you want to cry. You actually do cry one morning, and you hope your family does not see you being tearful.
2. There’s some stir-fry still in the wok from last night. If you eat that, and skip lunch, would that work?
3. Do NOT want to feel starving at 2pm though.
4. Or weigh out the cereal again. You’re basically punching yourself in the balls while telling yourself that you’re doing good.
5. Fuck it. That stir-fry was good last night, and it’s calling out to be eaten.
6. WOAH! Stir-fry in the morning is great!
7. Go to work.
8. Lunch time – Go to cafeteria. Lentil and onion soup as the healthy option. You’re… not hungry. Should you skip it?
9. You are literally snubbing soup. And you’re snubbing all other food as well. You’ll have another fag-end coffee though… but you know what? You’re going to have a splash of skimmed milk in it. TREAT YO SELF.
10. 4pm – OK, You’re hungry now.
11. Come home, make low-fat curry.
12. 9pm – You’re… well… the tummy isn’t rumbling for once.
13. Wake up following morning. Wife muses, “You know, since starting the diet, you haven’t snored much. I’ve had a proper night’s sleep these last few weeks without wanting to smother you.”
14. That’s a point, when was the last night you woke with acid reflux burning your throat? Around New Year, wasn’t it?
15. “Thank you colleague, but no, I don’t want an M&M. No, please don’t be a dick and wave it in my face whilst whispering “Go onnnnn” in a seductive fashion. It’s almost as if you want me to fail. Well, not this time.”
END OF THE WEEK STATUS:
You gone and done a few days where you eat last night’s leftovers for brekkie and… it’s pretty good. Hey, this could be your new diet thing. It certainly fills you up until the evening meal… yeah, it’s perfectly doable.
Next week is going to be tricky, though. You’ve got Valentine’s Day coming up, and you want to be able to enjoy it without feeling horribly guilty. Sometimes you’ve just got to fuck the diet off, otherwise what’s the point of living? However, would it ruin everything to indulge for one naughty evening? We shall see…
WEIGHT LOSS AT THE END OF THE WEEK:
5lbs. WOAH! WIN!!!