Fucking Halloween candy.
Here I am slaving away on the goddamned elliptical machine, suffering through a hundred salads, turning my back on cookies and pastries all over the place and generally starving half the day away, and the pounds continue to linger... rather than fleeing as they should under such torture.
But I'm getting used to counting out how many crackers are 100 calories, and eating apples instead of apple turnovers for snacks, and ordering the four-hundred-calorie turkey (no gravy) and a double order of string beans instead of the chicken pot pie (700 calories, not counting sides and bevo) at Boston Market, and spending my lunch-hour in the gym instead of at the Borders across the street. And the pounds are trickling away, ever so slowly but at least steadily.
So right in the middle of one of my better days, where I'm actually enjoying my spartan tea-time snack of a Clif bar and a few grapes at the Reception desk, here comes the office manager with a big ceramic jack-o-lantern filled with yummy yummy candy... which she then plunks down on the counter right in front of me. Granted, I have to reach around my computer monitor and come halfway out of the chair to get the candy, but that's not the point... the point is, it's there, and all the skinny bitches in the office come by and guilelessly nab a goodie every time they pass the Reception counter.
And that's not the only one. Every breakroom and every conference room and every copy area has a little orange bucket of candy in it. Everywhere I turn, there's Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Hershey's Special Dark fun-sized bars (I mention those two because they're my favorites... there are other varieties, as well), smiling and taunting at me... I swear I can smell the chocolate, even though it's individually wrapped for freshness.
Every time I go past one of these little pots of delicious evilness, I struggle to keep myself from diving in head-first and eating the whole thing. A few times I've crumbled and grabbed one object out, and enjoying it so immensely that I have to literally slap my own hand to keep from reaching for another one. It's exhausting, this endless battle against the chocolate.
I tell you, I'm sick to death of dieting. I wanna eat chocolate! I wanna eat white bread! I wanna have an almond bear-claw and a whole-milk Chai latte! I want to eat ice-cream by the quart and wash it down with a whole bottle of Hershey's syrup!
But not until I lose forty more pounds. Or until this Biggest Loser contest is over... I am not throwing away my work so far along with the fifty bucks and however much I'll be fined for any weight-gain, just to indulge my baser food instincts.
I guess I wouldn't mind it so much if I was getting better results from my weight-loss regimen. I've plateaued, I guess, and the weight is coming off at a rate of about a pound and a half a week... rather less than I would like to report at my weekly weigh-in, let me tell you. And I still have this big ol' belly sitting on top of my pants. Oh, and the man-boobs, though smaller, are still there.
What I wouldn't give for a nice round of liposuction, just get rid of it all at once without all this blasted effort. But I can't afford it, so I'll have to stick to the old-fashioned route.
Besides, Halloween will soon be over; by this time next week the candy will be gone... or rather, this time two weeks from now (because you know everybody's going to bring in their leftover trick-or-treat candy the next day, and God knows how long that will last), so the temptation will abate. God preserve me until that day!
So, how's every little thing with you?