I need to manage your expectations ahead of Sunday’s weigh-in, because I had a major wobble on Wednesday where the whole sugar free living thing is concerned. I think, think, I might have just about stayed within points but since I was too busy diving into a bag of chocolate covered peanuts swiftly followed by a piece of lemon flapjack to scan the barcode and enter the correct points value into my app, I can only guess at the collateral damage that my snaccident and the chaos that followed may have inflicted on my week.
Shit, shit, SHIT. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I only popped my head around the door of our reception desk in the office to pass the time of day with the lady who juggles all our visitors, but I found her setting up the freshly delivered charity sweets box, and thoughts of a pleasant five minutes chat were swiftly overtaken by the need to rugby-tackle her out of the way so I could have a good root through the box to see what was in there. I was only going to look …
I arrived back at my desk with the offending bag of chocolate-covered peanuts and set off a tsunami of colleagues who also wanted in on the action. My desk buddy, who is on a perpetual diet like me disappeared and came back with chocolate-covered honeycomb, and the next thing I knew I was halfway down a cup of tea, accessorised with the lemon flapjack, which had come a close second to the chocolate covered peanuts when my hand had been hovering over the box.
So, like a fucking ejit, I’ve gone and unleashed the beast haven’t I..? Since the incident on Wednesday the Asshole voice is excelling himself at trying to lead me into temptation. You’ve spoiled the week now. Just have a few days off and re-set on Sunday. You’re going out for dinner with friends on Saturday night and you don’t want to be fretting about the fact that you’ve got no points saved up so you’re fucked anyway, and they probably don’t have dust on the menu…
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not moaning, right? I’m not making excuses or trying to absolve myself of any responsibility for the fuck-up, I’m just providing the commentary to the way shit goes down in my head. On Wednesday, I got up from my desk and walked down the corridor to the bathroom and my day was solid. I’d eaten a carefully pointed breakfast, a carefully prepared lunch, and all was well. Five minutes later I had my nose in the chocolate peanuts. It’s like some fucking primal instinct ripped everything out of the well-oiled circuit board in my head and hotwired a snack attack.
I often think that dealing with an enemy would be so much easier if it wasn’t myself. I’m my own worst enemy because this shit comes from inside, you know? I’ve got the logical thought processes and the food planning down pat. I know what I’m doing and I make good choices based on all the things I know and understand, but then randomly, out of nowhere…well, shit happens.
Work in progress…we just keep plodding on 🙂