I wish I had a reset button. It would be so much easier than trying to drag my head back into the right place by degrees. I’m kicking and screaming inside like a wayward toddler at the prospect of having to colour inside the lines again after a week or two off the leash and it doesn’t help that I feel as rough as toast, with a scratchy throat and a banging head. It’s like the Gods of Skinny have conspired to hand me an excuse that I can wheel out in case of emergency, you know? I can’t get back on the wagon yet, I’m poorly and we all know you should feed a cold and starve a fever…

Incidentally, I don’t have a cold and I don’t have a fever so technically, whatever bug I’ve picked up is diet neutral and feeling like death warmed up is therefore no excuse at all. Dammit. I need to get a grip and JFDI.

Isn’t it funny, how last week when I was playing fast and loose with whatever I could put in my mouth, my head was full of rash promises about what a paragon of virtue I was going to be as soon as my feet touched home soil. I was going to ace it, yessiree! Full steam ahead, no more messing. Nailed on, I mean guaranteed. With a slice of pizza in one hand and an ice-cream in the other, the prospect of behaving myself at some point in the future seemed incredibly straightforward, dare I even say simple..? It never is though, is it.

Since weigh-in on Sunday, despite this monumental inner tantrum I have stuck to my calorie budget, so that’s a good thing. I’ve eaten my exercise calories, which isn’t ideal but technically it’s allowed. I’m not sure that using all my food budget up by 3pm is the smartest way of budgeting but that’s what happened yesterday…I had to drink coffee for the rest of the day and go without dinner. It doesn’t break the rules per se, but I definitely think it falls under the heading of ‘muppet’. It’s not sustainable.

But I’m trying.

I’m trying to focus on cause and effect. I’m trying to re-embrace the diet and see skinny town in my future instead of resenting the fact that I can’t have what I want. Which, for the avoidance of doubt is ten thousand calories a day, no effort whatsoever on my part and a size twelve arse. It’s just not going to happen. I need to file that thought under D for daydream, and it can take its rightful place alongside my hopes of winning the Euro-millions, or getting carried off and ravished by Hugh Jackman ’till my eyes pop out.

*Sighs*….

I know somewhere in the core of me there’s a well of determination, tenacity and grit. I’m just having trouble getting at it, that’s all. Sooner or later, providing I keep sending the bucket down I’ll hit the right spot and find a way to crack on without all this drama. Bear with me folks…I’ll get there 🙂

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