don't look at me

Well, the first week of my diet was a brilliant success as it almost always is.  I stuck to it religiously, never even looked at forbidden foods, and even exercised a few days.  And on Monday morning, I stepped onto the scale to be delighted by a five pound weight loss.

The first week is always great.

During the first week, I'm still riding high off of the day before my diet starts.  That's the day where I allow myself one final binge.  I eat my fill of all the foods I will be missing and say goodbye to them one by one.

Blue Bell Butter Crunch Ice Cream

Cheese

Ranch Dressing

Pasta with butter and garlic

Cake with lots of frosting

You know, all of my friends.

For the next week, I live off of that buzz that I get from all the sugar and simple carbohydrates.  I feel great for a while and I think to myself, "I can do this."

It's always Day Eight that really gets to me.

I start feeling anxious at first.  This is not an unusual feeling for me so at first I don't notice it.  Then I feel sad for no reason.  I start to worry about strange things that don't make any sense.  Yesterday, I started having existential crises.

That's right.  Existential crises.

Then I get mad.

And that's where I found myself this afternoon.  Standing in the kitchen feeling angry and mad.  And today the object of my rage was poor Dave.

Poor Dave stepped into the line of fire for me today because I was standing at the kitchen counter making two jam sandwiches.  I was making jam sandwiches because I had had enough.  I was at my limit of feeling tired and sad and grouchy and worried so I was going pump sugar into my veins in the fastest way I knew how which was to eat the most processed sugary food I had in my house at the moment.

I don't even like jam sandwiches.  This wasn't like I had done a poor job of ridding my kitchen of the foods that tempt me.  In all honesty, if I didn't have bread or jam, Dave would have found me standing in front of a bag of sugar with a spoon in my hand.  And I'm sad to say, I'm serious about that.

Poor Dave tried a sly approach this afternoon.  He came into the kitchen and carefully asked, "What are you doing?"

"Making sandwiches."

Followed by, "Don't look at me!"

He then cautiously asked if I was making the sandwiches for the kids and then I just lost my cool because he knew that I wasn't making those sandwiches for the kids and I knew that he knew I wasn't making those sandwiches for the kids.  I felt like he was treating me like the addict that I am.

In the end, I didn't eat the sandwiches.  I furiously threw them away and stormed out of the kitchen.  And then that sweet wonderful man actually apologized to me and took the blame for that incident by saying that he should have approached it differently.  I feel terribly guilty, by the way.

Then he took the kids and me to Orange Leaf for a healthier treat.

And I stayed on the wagon thanks to poor Dave.

Before we left, Dave told Kate where we were going but not to tell me because it was a surprise.  It was all she could do to keep the secret.  She kept shouting, "We're going to go...  We're going to go..."  She rode to Orange Leaf with both hands over her mouth to keep from spilling the beans.  When I finally guessed it, she screamed with excitement because Orange Leaf is her favorite place and Kate loves surprises, even if she has a hard time keeping them under wraps.