The DIE in dieting


    All my life, despite occasional displeasure over my body, I have never gone on a diet. I didn’t find it worthwhile to deprive myself of all things delicious just so my mother, who can easily find a nit to pick when it comes to my size, will applaud my loss of a few pounds. If I wanted ice cream, I’d eat it. If I began to salivate over cannoli, then I’d have the freakin’ cannoli. This was all while my metabolism was in place, however.

    That’s not so much the case anymore. I’m tempted to detail the pathetic workings of my digestive tract but I will spare you and your gag reflex. I will admit that I’ve gained 17 pounds since the fall of 2004. My ferocious backfat is back, and I’m looking mighty sloppy.

    So, ladies and gentlehumans, behold the unthinkable: Minal is going on a diet. The start date is today, and my goal is rather unimpressive: Refrain from consumption of cookies, cake, ice cream, candy, pastries, chocolate or anything else scrumptiously sweet and dessert-ish for a week. An entire week. This is serious.

    I’m submitting myself to this torture because I think I’ve developed a dependency on sugar. And I’d like to see just how big of a crazed bitch I become with a low dose of sugar in my system. I’ve already warned my co-worker of the challenge; told her to not take it personally if I snap or bite her hand off while losing it over a bite-sized Snickers.

    The day so far has been easy; withdrawals aren’t near their apex yet. I did, however, catch myself going for a lollipop near the copydesk … it was almost reflexive.

    This is going to be fun. I hope I don’t die of low blood sugar levels.

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