Time’s moving on…
I’m definitely mid-project. I had to go to Asda yesterday. Usually I find a little item to tempt me in George, just to take the edge off the fact that I’m in Asda, on a Sunday, food shopping. But, unfortunately it’s sale time so the racks were rammed with unsightly garments and I had to console myself with buying vegetables instead, trying to convince myself that I will eat 5 of them a day and be a better person.
I arrived at the till, re-usable bags at the ready, and was informed by the woman on the till ‘You look shattered, love.’ Well, in her defence, I was. I was struck, however, that the sister on the till had stringy dyed hair, was nearer 60 than 50 and had no teeth. She thought I looked ropey!
This is not a good sign. I should have made some improvements by now. I should not be party to gentle, caring, yet ultimately negative comments from the woman on the checkout at Asda.
I’m not getting it right and I’ve got 2 months to my birthday. That’s 60 days. I feel like I’m revising for my ‘A’ levels and I can’t get my brain to absorb the facts.
It’s time for brutal honesty. I’m going to have to adopt the persona of Gillian McKeith. The gentle approach is too slow. It’s time for unflattering photos on the fridge and a food diary. I wish it hadn’t come to this. I’m nearly 40 – you’d think I’d have got the hang of all this stuff by now. It’s not difficult. Eat a less, move about more. It’s not the stuff of science fiction.
Why is it so difficult? Am I emotional eater? Am I a sugar addict?
It’s got to stop.