Pumpkin Pie, I Do Not Spy

My parents just developed a batch of photos of me (and why were these taken again?  I am noticeably edging away) snapped just before Christmas of last year.  Squinting, they ask, “Were these taken before you lost all that weight?”

The fact that they even need to ask means, quite obviously, “no.”  

So, I am a walking “Before” picture.  Just tonight I tried to vomit a dinner of meatballs, salad, and “primal” pumpkin pie, but three fingers down my throat later, I still failed miserably.  My body, apparently, is extremely unwilling to give up food. 

So I have programmed my phone calendar to remind me to do three 24-hour fasts over the next week.  And that’s how we do Paleo in the year 2008, bitches.  

Yes, I am a bit too far gone to just “eat less and enjoy the foods I eat.”  Yes, it’s obsessive compulsive.  This past week, I tried to swear off analyzing my food intake on Fitday and weighing myself twice daily.  In the meantime, I kept imagining my visceral fat growing in mass, parasitically choking off my internal organs.  So, now what?


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