Week Three! Don't Eat With Boys

This was a bad week.  I have wanted to eat a Pizza, Chipper and Chinese all in one night.  Fighting the urge to eat really bold food, while you have on your fork, a steamed piece of broccoli is nothing short of a miracle. Eating with boys is bad.  There was laden in front of me a Hogwarts style take away banquet and I managed to politely say no actually (it was more like, “go F&%k yourselves).  Don’t ask me how I did it. 

Have you ever gone to the cinema and had nothing? I did.  I spent more attention on the noisy guy in front of me with the buttery popcorn than the film.  I never realised how good butter popcorn smells and have you ever noticed how the butter glistens against the light of the screen? No, well I did.  After the cinema I went to my niece’s engagement party and drank slimline tonic water with NO gin.  This was torture.  I really wanted a drink.  Everyone was in great spirits and everyone was full of great spirits (being Vodka, Rum and Gin).

Later on that week I went for a walk in St Catherine’s Park.  A lovely spot to walk in the pissing rain.  As my athletic pal Lucy thundered through the woodland setting without skipping a beat I stumbled along behind her sweating like a small hospital and willing myself to fall down the steep hill into a tree just so I could abandon the walk and catch my breath that I was pretending was normal.  Once it was over I was delighted I did it, after all, it got me off the couch.        

  

Things went from bad to worse when I returned to the house and my seventeen year old dog (Flow) had a seizure.  I had to call my partner at work, how she deciphered what I was saying between the crying and the snotting I don’t know but she came home from work to bring me to the twenty four hour vet.  At the vets I continued to wail and cry while, poor Flow ended up mad out of it on Benzos and Valium.  When we got home that night I poured myself several G&T’s while lying on Flow’s bed telling her how much I loved her like a crazy person.

From worse it got dreadful.  I met the lovely Caoimhe of Magazine + to have a look at the proof that went for print of the first column of my challenge.  As I opened the article in the coffee shop in Talbot Street I could feel tears streaming down my face.  The article stood there, a full page, I knew at the time that Evan had to be a wolf in sheeps clothing.  I had visions of me storming into his studio and drop kicking him ninja style in his (there is no polite way of saying it) man tackle.  It was definitely worse than I look on a daily basis.  Anyone who knows me knows I would never step out of the house looking like that. The image that accompanied the article was horrendous.  I didn’t recognise that whale of a woman in it.  I couldn’t even bear to read the article and as I write this I still haven’t looked at it.

I can only say that the image that was printed alongside my first article will be forever engrained on my mind and if nothing else will be a constant reminder of why I am doing this. Week three, 8 pounds down, I blame the one pound loss on stress and gin.