When in doubt get gorgeous 2: the diet plan

2 ‘o’ clock in the morning.
Stomach’s yearning.
Eyes sleepless yet longing for respite.
It’s been exactly 50 hours 20 minutes and a couple of seconds since I launched into my new diet.
Life since then has been about ducking desires and astute asceticism.
It’s not an easy deal.
Every fifteen seconds or so I remind myself of the exact stratagem to be adopted, ‘Brown before white, if you wanna eat right”……
It’s not an easy deal.
They are yet to cook up a whole wheat blackforest cake fit for human consumption.
So I grit my teeth and barricade the means of consumption.
2 ‘o’ clock is the moment of its reinforcement.
In my mind a half eaten slice of cheesecake, a recent inmate in my refrigerator, was beginning to grow.

The axe had to come down on the extra pounds sooner or later. The time had come, I’d decided a good time back. My new found interest in getting my life in order had reinforced the need for the hourglass with virgin intensity.
It had proved far harder than I had imagined it to be.
Incorporating the diet into my life had taken time.
For the first few days I had dilly-dallied a bit, I confess. But it was Easter and little could be done to keep a red blooded girl from food on festival days.
A week later when I still hadn’t managed to tackle it I told myself such transitions took time and planning.
Accordingly, I browsed the net and noted down important pointers to help me with my metamorphosis.
These took 4 whole days to sink in.
Once the message was assimilated, I took my time to enjoy the greatest joys of life, for the very last time.
It was a prolonged goodbye, sunk in crates of beer and peppered with the last traces of Cheetos.
When I recovered, I was a new girl.
Promptly I sauntered off to the green grocer’s and came back with veggies I had only seen in encyclopedias.
Morning began with stringy sprouts.
Tasteless and altogether unfit for ingestion.
As I chewed I had the image of a sweater strung in my head. Thousands of shreds of wool drawn out of them…..like hair off a blonde headed dolly……
No. Breakfast wouldn’t be sufficed by this alone I decided determinedly, spitting out the remnants of the fiber out into the sink.
So I sank back into routine and selected a big bowl of syrupy cereal instead.
Munching on the chocolate coated flakes I felt fulfilled.
Sighing with pleasure I decided the afternoon would be the starting point.

Afternoon came.
I skipped the meal, by then feeling guilty as hell over the cereal and convinced that it had added an extra inch to my waistline.
By evening I coul swallow a whole cow,horn and tail and everything in between.
Accordingly, I binged like a child, yet untouched by the grime of the calorie counter.

That was then. In the 36 hours that had followed I had struggled to stay afloat.
Bursting at the seams to keep myself from surrendering to the roadside muffin store.
Turning green under the pressure to resist the insurmountable temptation of fried chicken.

UGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Resistance, I had taken, to a new gastronomical height.