So I had that caramel shortcake yesterday. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You know in those magazines, the Top Diet Tip articles? Right after they give you earth-shattering revelations like Drink Water and Do Not Eat Whole Blocks Of Butter, they always suggest you can avoid temptation from Foods of Satan™ by having alternative, healthy food on hand. So I’d armed myself against the Dark Prince with a banana and some walnuts, which are both delicious and healthy — even more delicious if you break off a chunk of nana and squish a walnut into it and enjoy the gooey nutty mess in one bite with a cup-of-tea chaser.
BUT as soon as 3 o’clock rolled round and I heard the pitter patter of cellophane ripping open, and noted that yes indeed it was THE Marks & Spencer Caramel Shortcake, well I just wandered over to the table, with the logic that, "Well how often does someone buy the quality M&S ones?". Ahh, so easily you can justify these things to yourself. It would have been reasonably reasonable thinking too, if I had not done the same thing at the Cakes session the day before. With a three-Chocolate-Mini-Bites chaser.
But you gotta move on (on on on on) as Pseudo Echo said in their 1980s classic cover of ‘Funky Town’. I knew I had to move to a town that’s right for me, and keep and moving and grooving with some energy. So I went to my Body Jam class.
Ahh what a shmozzle. I couldn’t help sinking into a blue mood due to my continued inability to grasp the concept of "just this once". If you say "just this once" or "one won’t hurt" twelve times a week, that quickly adds up to added pounds. My dance moves were 100 times more crap than usual as I was trying to learn some very complex new steps while simultaneously trying to analyse my issues with food. It seemed so stupid to be flinging myself around the gym, my Enell sports bra all slick and icky with sweat, if I was just going to negate that effort by eating so much rubbish.
I have said this time and time again – my great periods of success have been when I went cold turkey on the crap. Not to long ago was on this streak of about two weeks sans junk food and had eradicated those wild sugar cravings when I thought, "Well I have been doing well, things are under control, and I am bored with fruit and seeds for my afternoon snack. I reckon I might buy a Fry’s Turkish Delight, it’s only 3 grams of fat" (or whatever it is). This would have been fine if it had not led to another chocolate and a pile of buttered toast that evening.
I am tired of writing the same entry over and bloody over again, but it’s been three and a half years, people! I am so sick of myself! I have changed a lot of things but I cannot seem to change this fundamental problem. IF I am not obsessing about being healthy (religious journalling, exercising, COMPLETELY banning cakes and choccies), I will just obsess about food instead. And not good food either. One bit of chocolate makes me think, righto chaps, where can I get my next bit? What shop will I go to? What magazine will I read while I mindlessly scoff?
It’s not as if I don’t have other things in my life, it’s not like food is the only thing I am passionate about. It’s not like 1999 when I was alone, unemployed, sitting on the kitchen floor in a sobbing depressed heap, eating because I quite literally had nothing else to occupy me. Now I stuff my days with travel and work work work and friends and the gym and my sister and the Scottish Companion.
I just seem to have these slightly extreme tendencies whereby if I am not 110% cold turkey devoted to the Fat Fighting Cause, I will instead be heartily energetic about eating rubbish. This entry is not me moaning about that one wee caramel shortcake I ate yesterday. It’s just me trying to come to terms with a pattern of a lifetime. I’m confused, I tells ya.