I am on a diet. What this means is that once upon a time, I didn’t think at all about food and stuffed my face with whatever was at-hand that happened to look delicious.
Now, I think about food all the time. I’m also hungry all the time.
I’m meeting a friend for lunch who can’t leave until 1pm because his job is ridiculously regimented, and I might actually die before the noon hour is up. I can feel my stomach eating itself and if I wasn’t 100% positive that traffic will be a nightmare, I’d plead for feet to be liberally applied to accelerator pedals in order to expedite a mission demolishing field trip to Five Guys, 4 miles down the road. Where upon I would order two of everything they sell (including beverages) and blow this diet to kingdom come.
“What are you in the mood for” he just pinged, as if I hadn’t already been thinking about food for the last three hours straight.
“FOOD” was my obvious reply. An entire month and I’m only down 8 lbs. If I was suffering AND making significant progress, this wouldn’t feel like self-mutilation. But I am suffering and I’m not making significant progress. So it does feel like unusually cruel self-inflicted torture. And it’s not even 12:30. I hate life. I wonder if they’re selling macadamia nut cookies in the first-floor cafe today. I totally bet that they are, those demented evil minions from HELLLLLL.