Do not -- I repeat -- DO NOT ever leave me alone in my kitchen. If I am happy, angry, anxious, sad, bored, or even just slightly awake, I will eat anything and everything I find.
In no particular order and without feeling the least bit hungry, I have just consumed the following: a few rings of dried apple, a handful of cashews, almonds, walnuts and pumpkin seeds, several purple cabbage leaves and more salad dressing than they deserved, half a cup of defrosted blueberries, two cups of green tea, half a canister of whipped cream, too many purple corn chips, and an impressive chunk of Morbier (that lovely cheese with a great ash). I think I've probably also wolfed down some other stuff that I've already forgotten but which my hips and thighs will recall for months to come. This is not a recipe for success in my race to becoming the best possible me.
Had I only been able to convince my stylist to return to her salon and cut my hair, I would've taken a shower and a nap instead of cleaning out the pantry, fridge, and cabinets and filling up my cheeks as if I were a starving squirrel. I am in desperate need of a trim, but was unable to stop by the shop until I, serendipitously or un-, exited a meeting on time and close by. Alas, Donna is training to become a personal trainer, and because business was slow today, she decided to go home to study -- which sent me home to nosh.
Perhaps I can talk her into personally training me in order to help her practice and pass her exams. She'll cut off an inch or two of my locks on Saturday at nine a.m. and maybe knock off an inch from my abdomen, butt, and/or chins over the next month or two.
I might have to resort to agreeing to get my hair cut more -- and more often. Not a bad idea. If I can't win my fitness challenge by losing 20 pounds of ugly fat, maybe hair loss will give me the edge. Sure, I might end up looking (as I do when the cut is too short) like a baby dinosaur emerging from its shell, but I might emerge stronger.