As I sit in the darkened living room this morning to avoid the glaring reality that is my insanely messy house, I think back to this "diet" and how it has affected my life already/so far.
I like to cook. I really do. Living in a converted basement apartment, the facilities aren't the most convenient. The hubs and I have made do since we got married, but we've been extremely lazy about it. We eat out a lot because the prospect of either carrying everything upstairs to cook or cooking on the single burner or in the toaster oven isn't appealing. And that says nothing to the fact that *we will then have to stand over the laundry sink to do dishes.
I learned how to cook in Italy, dang it! Why did cooking become so uninteresting? Is it the facilities? The lack of variety? The fact that carrying 300+ pounds around makes my feet hurt like hell if I'm standing for more than 10 minutes at a time?
Whatever the reason, I really don't enjoy it anymore. The thought of cooking meals makes me cringe. Scavenging for food is hard enough as it is, without factoring in foods that fit the criteria. And that says nothing of doing it like 5 or more times a day.
Eating out is easier. I can do a chicken breast or a salad or whatever, and I don't feel like I'm doing too badly. But sitting at home in my post-tornado-disaster house, eating at regular intervals is just one more thing on my long list of crap I need to do.
Logically, I know it will make me feel better. Having a clean house, eating healthy... they are two things that will keep me sane. But the herculean effort it requires to get off my butt and DO anything is daunting and overwhelming and frustrating.
I'm tired. Like really really really tired. It's not because the food I'm eating isn't giving me energy. It's more that I never get enough sleep and I'm mentally exhausted from the effort of living.
Can I really do this for 6 months?
*I say "we" but really I mean "Brent". That laundry sink is killer on my back - just too low to be comfortable for more than a couple seconds.