Okay. Here it is. Sometime around Thursday during my dinner of yet another steak and some roasted broccoli, I put down my plate and said, “No more.” I didn’t mean “No more Whole 30, pass the cheese.” Instead, it turns out I meant, “No more food. Over it.” At the time I just thought I had wasted a decent amount of grass-fed ribeye and organic broccoli, but this state of being carried over into the next day.
On Friday I refused to eat. Yeah, that’s crazy. Well I did eat a handful of almonds for breakfast and drank black coffee all day. And at some point I ate an apple because I thought I should, but I did not enjoy it and in fact, could have done without it. You guys, I even took my kids through the drive-thru at In ‘N’ Out and only ordered for them. I didn’t even eat my kid’s leftover french fries. Wasn’t even tempted when he ate like four of them, and left the rest. I know. Shit got real.
By the time my husband got home I was in bed (kids, dog and LEGOs all around me) and feeling sad. I told my husband I was on a hunger strike. He promptly pulled out the vodka, but alas, that did not do the trick. You see, I’m stuck in this guilty place where I know anything not on the approved list is going to make me feel horrible. Not even just physically horrible, but mentally. After all, I made a promise. 30 Days. And I do not feel so awesome about breaking it. I feel like a failure even thinking about stopping this crazy (yet healthy) train. At the same time I do not want one more fucking piece of meat or any kind of green shit on my plate. Don’t even get me started on eggs. And that, my friends, is what you call an impasse.
So I’m pretending I’m fasting for Yom Kippur, but really it’s just me being mental. I don’t think it’s a great idea to just not eat for the rest of the 30 days. Yet creative cooking is just not cutting it, as I’m also getting super duper burned out about working, commuting like a mother ‘effer, coming home and cooking, doing that whole “mom” thing, that whole “Oh, right I’m also an author” thing, and that “I do love my husband, but he wouldn’t know it right about now” thing. So if anyone has any suggestions that won’t make me completely homicidal, I’m wide open. My husband is super duper hoping for suggestions as he just went from being “supportive” to being “scared shitless” of me. K, thanks, bye.