Dear Food Diary,
I started you in the hopes that I could finally make sense of why I cannot shed these
5 60 pounds that seemed to have just snuck up on me overnight during the last four years. With hope in my heart and fat cells on my ass, I embarked on my journey, staying diligent and honest as I wrote down each morsel that made it’s way into my mouth. I have to admit. Seeing my horrendous habits in print made me feel ashamed and suicidal, and also, I have gone through an entire 10 pack of blue ball point pens and it has only been two days. But I carried on, knowing that only the purest of humiliation could help me get back into my beloved I.N.C. single-digit pants. I emptied water bottles, gave up Coke Zero, snacked on sugar snap peas and began to use Blue Agave Nectar instead of refined sugar. In short, I was putting my taste buds through the kind of torture that our National Homeland Security Division would be proud of. (Seriously guys, call me. I can have these terrorists giving you all sorts of information by the time they are done with my personalized food plan).
But I have to be honest here, food diary. You have done nothing to curtail my appetite and in fact, I am obsessed with food now more than ever (if that is even remotely possible). You sit there, judging me, waiting for me to eat a family-sized bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos so that I have to hang my head in shame and write it down.
Well no more food diary.
I will find another way.
It may or may not include eating less and possibly working out, but until scientific research proves that that is really and truly and for sure, without the slightest bit of doubt or trace of uncertainty, where the margin of error is zero, absolutely positively the ONLY way to do it, I am leaving my options wide open (no pun intended).
And by the way.
The other night, I baked a dozen banana muffins, ate more than half, and didn’t write it down.
Because you are fired.
And because, according to my kindergarten curriculum, bananas are a green light food and