My morning boing has been replaced with morning-inability-to-get-out-of-bed. I guess I need to forget being a midnight owl for the time being, at least until my body adjusts to such a reduced intake of calories. Or be late for work every day for the foreseeable future … hmmm, that’s a toughie!
The whole food replacement thing has become quite automatic now. It’s getting to the point where people don’t look at me as weird so much as feel guilty about themselves. I’m not sure I could tuck into a whopping plate of cheesy pasta with impunity while someone nibbled on a food bar. But anyway, I’m getting used to being a food voyeur, and what still staggers me is the fact that I genuinely don’t miss it. Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe in a week I’ll be sobbing into my pillow and hallucinating steak and chips. Maybe this is like giving up smoking … a doddle for a few weeks and then after three months you’re climbing the walls. I really really really hope not.
My clothes feel more loose, which is absolutely brilliant. I haven’t quite got my head around the fact that soon I’ll be able to wear absolutely anything I bloody well like, although I think I may draw the line at hotpants and boob tubes. Sadly I’m only getting thinner, not younger.