Damn. So right around 5 o’clock I usually start to unravel a bit. I’m finishing up work, I’m distracted, I’m all tapped out, and I want a pizza and a beer. Of course, I can’t really have those “normal” style so this is usually not the worst craving to have. What is bad? My insane wish for chocolate covered wine. Or something. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it’s not going home to more steak and kale and water.
This is the point where I just whine for awhile about this totally voluntary eating plan I put myself on. Yes, that is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. I’m choosing to take the Whole 30 challenge, and now I’m getting burned out, and pretending that I have no choice in this situation. Of course, if someone were holding a gun to my head (and rest assured, no one is) I could complain all night and be totally justified. As it is now? Well, I still can’t help myself from wishing like hell I could shove some rainbow right in my cake hole. I want this cake so bad, you guys. If I told you I wasn’t crying a little, that would be a lie.
Also? I could use a little Bourbon Joe Brownie Cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream to cheer me up.
And I wouldn’t kick a Ginger Lemon Martini out of my bed either. Or any of its cocktail friends.
They seem nice, don’t they?
And OHMARYMOTHEROFJESUS I WANT CORNDOGS!!!!
So, yeah. I’m gritting my teeth and watching the clock and waiting for this all to be over. And yes, I realize that if I eat and drink all of these things the second it’s over I’m not only making the previous 30 days completely useless, but I’ll get hella’ sick, hella’ fast. So I won’t do it all at once. Maybe just over a long weekend. And then the next week I’ll get back on the protein, vegetable, fat, minimal fruit horse because in spite of all of my bitchin’, I think I might have just changed some eating habits for good. Oh, snap.