Insert Zig Ziglar quote here.

I started my OA food plan today.

I’m not a veggie person, so I had a meltdown in the kitchen trying to find another serving of veggies like my plan requires. Then I said “fuck this shit,” pulled out my leftover molten lava cake from yesterday’s steakhouse extravaganza and stuck it in the microwave.

I took it out, put it in front of me, and stared at its chocolatey goodness. I could smell the bastard – I wanted it, yet again. Fucking understatement, really.

But nope. I’d started this meal plan for a reason. I, again, said “fuck this shit,” which honestly, was really confusing my mother; she just kept hearing me cuss to/at myself.

I stormed into the kitchen, got a knife, cut up an apple, got some peanut butter and ate them in front of the lava cake. I felt like I was cheating on it, like I had something to prove to it. It wasn’t until later I think I proved something to myself. [Note: I still had a fruit and fat serving left for the day from earlier.]

Fuck you, cake. Fuck you, sugar. I won today. I won. Until tomorrow.

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