I Flick My Stubby Finger At Thee!

Alas, sugar has me in her tantalizing clutches once again.

I don’t know how I let it happen. Soft serve on a rare Thursday night date, a spoonful of peanut butter on Friday morning when breakfast didn’t feel like enough, key lime pie to celebrate my father’s birthday on Saturday, then pancakes, pizza, and cinnamon dough on Sunday. The urges are swelling like a snowball tumbling downhill, quickly and too easily. But instead of Olaf, I get two pounds of fat back on my hips.

It’s crazy. It didn’t feel like a lot at the time. None of it was frenzied eating, just irresponsible, unprepared, and lazy. That little voice told me I’d earned it somehow. I have to learn the difference between my conscience and the little devil sugar fairy on my shoulder. I want to flick her in her little liar face.

So, we right the ship again. My breakfast and lunch have been sensible, my dinner is planned, and I’ve already had 30 oz of water. I’m feeling better, less headachey and fake-hungry. We sail on.

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