2018 was—shall we say—not exactly my best year. I spent the first seven months gainfully unemployed and in a perpetually horrific mood. Years from now I’m sure I’ll be able to look back on the past twelve months with some amount of insight, but for now 2018 can—shall we say—kiss my ass.
Given that I was dumped by my employer a couple days before Christmas, any semblance of a New Year’s resolution this year went right out the window. I resorted to doing what I do best—eating my feelings. It was glorious—until it wasn’t. After a while, the novelty of eating whatever I wanted—uh, whenever I wanted—lost its luster. Didn’t matter. I kept chowing down at a breakneck pace.
Meanwhile, I started battling seven dwarves who had taken up residence inside my body. Meet Moody, Puffy, Itchy, Lazy, Hungry, Achy and Crazy. Slowly but surely those sneaky little bastards started infiltrating my daily existence. I was completely at a loss how to get rid of them. Seems months of eating dangerously started catching up with me and these dwarves were some sort of demented by-product.
Did I attempt to do anything about it? Nope. In fact, I doubled down. Well, double cheeseburgered down is more like it. So after a lot of soul searching and teen angst, I’ve decided that drastic times call for drastic measures.
In 2019, I’m giving up sugar.
Before you comment—yes, I know sugar is in everything. And, yes, I’m aware I might as well give up air. But I’m determined to give it my all and write about my journey as I go along—the good, the bad and the pending nervous breakdowns it will cause.
My love affair with the white stuff is well documented. I’ve had a sweet tooth since birth. Trying to curb it, however, has been fruitless the last couple years. So now I’m going fruit pie-less. That means, no sugar, no sweeteners, no carbs, no starches, no gluten—no kidding. (My inner fat kid’s head just exploded.)
Like any good junkie, I’m going out in a blaze of glory. Frosted Christmas cookies? Yes, please. Pecan pie? I’ll take TWO slices. Caramel Brulé latte from Starbucks? Make it a venti, dammit.
A couple years ago, I stopped drinking. Completely. And I never once looked back. Were there days I struggled? Um, yes—like the first seven months of this year, for instance. But I was focused and undaunted. In my case, where there’s a will, there’s willpower.
I read somewhere that it takes around 40 days for your body and mind to get over impetuous cravings—so I’m looking forward to not being completely berserk by around Valentine’s Day. Know what else I’m looking forward to? Not feeling like a tick about to pop. As my friend said a few weeks ago, “Mackie, I’ve seen less bloated men fished out of rivers.”
What’s the impetus behind this blog? Just letting you know that I’m on a mission to detox. Can I do it? I’m beyond hopeful. If everything comes together like I’ve planned in my head, I should be able to get back down to my birthweight by 2020. Keep your fingers crossed.