I wrote the other day about a newfound resolve to lose weight. It’s been just shy of two weeks and I’m still going strong. Sure, I’ve had a few slip-ups here and there but they’re not my fault. They’re the evil-doings of Eunice.

Eunice is both my uterus and my monthly visitor. I use the name for each interchangeably, but typically she refers to my womanhood and the ways it screws with my life. Pimple popped up? Eunice. Dove headfirst into a pile of french fries? Eunice again. Accidentally stabbed your annoying coworker in the face? That pesky Eunice. Did you sleep for 18 hours straight and wake up with chocolate smeared across your forehead? It’s fine. It’s Eunice.

She's a beast.

She’s a beast.

While she is basically a scapegoat for anything going wrong during that one week a month (and also the weeks immediately preceding and following), she’s also a legitimate saboteur of this weight loss journey on which I’ve embarked. She’s not even here yet, only threatening with a menacing scowl on the other side of Mother Nature’s door, but she’s already wreaking havoc. Take Tuesday, for example. I did well at work because I can only eat what I’ve brought with me. I stayed low on calories and high on irritation but I survived. I had intentions of walking another three miles, doing laundry and having a sensible salad for dinner but those plans were quickly thwarted.

Instead of opening the refrigerator to grab the last of the Romaine, beastly forces took over my arm and I opened the freezer. I went on to remove a frozen pizza and preheat the oven. By the time I regained control of my hormone-wracked body I had eaten the whole thing. All 900 calories. That’s almost an ENTIRE day’s worth of food. I felt guilty. For a minute. Then I watched two episodes of Glee and cried salty, garlicky tears into the bottom rim of my glasses. Then I ate some Girl Scout cookies before posting a well-crafted Facebook status about the pizza, in hopes of receiving some global sympathy. Then I went to bed and felt sorry for myself.

Yesterday was an uphill battle rife with muttered curses and cravings stomped down to nothing. I felt in control of my body and my mouth and with the help of several strong mints was able to eat well all day. Since my willpower is being held hostage for the rest of the week, I thought it best to invest in something that would make other food taste bad. So I’m eating mints every hour on the hour. We all have our coping mechanisms.

Shed your calories and GET IN MY MOUTH!

Shed your calories and GET IN MY MOUTH!

Even though yesterday went well and today isn’t a disaster so far, I’m feeling weak. Here are some thoughts that have crossed my mind over the past hour:

-I would sell my soul to North Korea if someone would bring me an olive burger and onion rings from Mr. Burger. I’d do it. I’ll draw up the contract right now. Don’t forget the ranch dressing.

-I’m seconds away from pouring salt directly onto my tongue.

-Is butter a carb?

-Frozen yogurt totally cancels out cookie dough pieces and chocolate sauce.

-The word “hangry” has just taken on a very personal meaning to me.

Wish me luck in the coming week. Eunice is a real bitch.


One thought on “Saboteur

  1. thenikkiblog says:

    Keep it up! The binge days will always happen. Any freak who claims they’ve never locked themselves in a room, black out face planted in a whopper & large onion rings, disposed of the evidence in their room trash can under 72 Kleenex, and come out like they’d “only been napping” is not a friend of mine. The best way
    I’ve found is looking forward to a bad ass cheat day. I always pick Sunday (because it starts at 1am Sat night while I’m still out lol) then cram my face all day! After that I have all week to get back on track which I find is a TON easier at work (too many whopper witnesses to be any good).

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