I went to bed last night at 1:30, dead tired. At 5am, I was still awake, inexplicably. It was either too much blanket, not enough blanket or wrong blanket, for three and a half hours. I feel bad, blaming my blanket for not being able to sleep, but I’m not ready to take responsibility for that bullshit.
In all honesty, my being really bad at sleeping is probably easier to attribute to carbohydrates than it is to Browny, my comforter. Yesterday for lunch I ate a sandwich, with bread and everything. It was delicious. For dinner, pasta, stuffed with cheese. I regret nothing. I was missing carbs so badly it was either eat some, or buy some teddy bear stationary and spend my night writing flowery poetry about how awesome sourdough is.
For all my deviant behavior, I managed to not gain any weight this week. This is because I’ve taken to shadow boxing around my apartment, constantly. After a recent evening spent reading scary stories, I came to the conclusion that my place is haunted. A cup fell from my counter into my sink, of its own volition, and that was enough evidence for me. So now I spend my afternoons adhering to a rigorous schedule of punching at the air (ghosts?) every hour. I do this to remind any potential spirits that I am a powerful and virile living person who is not afraid of them.
I really hope they buy it.
My diet goal for this week was to not have a diet goal for this week. It worked exceptionally well. I apparently can spend a Thursday shoving cheese and bread into my body, and not actually get fatter from it. I’m kind of proud of this. I plan on doing this for a few more days, before dropping right back into the diet, hardcore. I’m going to con my body skinny.