A month now, I think, give or take a few days and the old self has not withered into hairpin curves yet.
The oatmeal breakfasts are on with the kind of self flagellating regularity which would surely earned me red carpet entry to any kind of ascetic discipline monastery. I now douse them with a sprinkling of sugar substitutes to make it a little more palatable and not eeriely like the remains of a slug I squashed underfoot on a hot tarmac.
Sugar has been dropped from the endless cups of coffee I consume in the course of my day in order for my brain to stay on full alert. I greedily count the number of calories I had not consumed through mindless spoons of sugar and make up for it all at once by downing a Cornetto post lunch or scarfing through a Bournville guiltily, when no one is looking.
I walk every single day. For at least an hour or an hour and a half. I’ve grown addicted to the walk. It calms me down and centres me. I can come back from my walk and feel the endorphins flowing through my system and the popping in my thighs assuring me that some complex bio chemical process is underway that is slowly and steadily breaking down the mounds of cellulite which has my thighs jutting out at right angles to the rest of my legs, and soon, I will have the kind of buff contours that would make any swimsuit model proud. Let a woman have her delusions, folks.
Rice has almost been cut out of my diet. Ah well. Lunch. But I have chapattis at night and get hunger pangs by the time it is close on 11 pm since I eat my meal by 8 pm. And then I toss and turn to visions of tandoori chickens doing the chorus line up at the Moulin Rouge.
Am I slimmer, discernibly? Not yet. But I am discernibly grumpier. I have been biting heads off quicker that the Queen could say off with his head. I have been spending work hours thinking about my next meal. I am totally, utterly and completely miserable and even the thought of being able to look into the mirror without recoiling in horror at my reflection is doing nothing to change my state of mind. I need one of them miracle thingies which you can drink down, get all the nutrients you need and feel so full that the thought of ingesting any solid food makes you barf. Alternately, I need some food switch in my brain turned off. The best of all, I need to stick pictures of my muffin top on my softboard. That should kill all appetite for sure.