I have loved sugar forever. Ever since I was a small child the appearance of a candy bar, chocolate, ice cream or cake would send me into delirium.
Not much has changed. It's definitely my drug of choice.
I don't drink (unless you count my yearly New Years Eve imbibe, don't do any other drugs, or smoke (anything). But sugar? Oh yeah. I tear open a vein for that shit. They say it's the same high as crack, and from where I am sitting and gobbling it up they are right. Yet, knowing that it is a problem for me I have managed to tone it down over the last couple of years and in the process lose 65 pounds.
That is, until COVID hit.
Along with everyone else, the fear of getting sick, or making someone else sick has made leaving the house for my normal activities (like working and attending class in person) pretty impossible. Without this normal routine I am a bit like the proverbial kid in a candy store where everything holds the golden ticket.
My old friend sugar has come-a-knocking in the form of cookies, pastries, candy, and ice cream. In fact I probably should just get a cow and make my own ice cream for as much as I have consumed! Sugar, or as my family has started calling it the demon, has got a hold on me. Coupled with my dramatic decrease in steps (prior to lockdown I was in Germany and stepping a glorious 15,000 a day for a week) this has caused a slight fluctuation in my weight.
The COVID 19 is real. And really on my hips, thighs, and stomach!
Before you get all righteous on me "you aren't a number!" "the scale doesn't measure your worthy!" let me just tell you that I don't feel well. The number is just a number until I don't feel right in my body anymore. I have worked too hard on making myself healthier to let the demon sugar bring me down!
So, today I have to tell my bestie sugar that we just can't continue on like this.
I love you. I really love you. We have had some fun times together. Birthday parties, treats with the family, and as always the treat stress eating that I been partaking in since our world turned upside down in March.
But we have to stop seeing each other as much. I have added some unnecessary poundage, am feeling far too sluggish, and quite frankly you are just not committed to my goal of losing another 50 pounds. And that hurts me. Your mere presence in my home disrupts my peace of mind, and crumbles my willpower.
I can't have that.
But we can still be friends. I will still indulge in the occasional "happy juice" (coffee frozen drink) and when we go to New Orleans for my birthday I will see you sprinkled all over the beignets I plan to try at Cafe Du Monde.
Other than that, I just can't invite you over anymore. Those late night dates while I am watching one of my crazy films after everyone has gone to bed isn't doing me any good. I just hate myself in the morning.
So, au revoir for now. Ce n'est pas tu, c'est moi.
Yes. It's that bad! It's been suggested that we perform an exorcism, perhaps with crosses made of Kit Kat bar segments, or some weird sort of aversion therapy where my head is repeatedly dunked into a vat of melted chocolate. But I would probably lash out like something out of the The Conjuring and gobble up the Kit Kat cross, or asphyxiate myself by inhaling chocolate like Augustus Gloop in Willy Wonka.
For now, writing it out will have to do. Wish me luck!
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