Just three more hours until I can eat cheese. I was told this diet would be difficult. I was told I’d want to kill people. I was told I’d hallucinate about food. I was told my energy would be drained. I was told in the end I’d be grateful. I was told this diet would curb my cravings. I was told that I’d feel the month of the Whole30 was worth it.
I don’t feel that way at all. I have vacillated between wanting to kill people and wanting to sleep consistently. I have had several dreams about milkshakes. I have become more and more exhausted with each morning (how much of that has to do with grad school, I never will know for sure). I am grateful, grateful that tomorrow I will eat pizza with cheese-stuffed crust. My cravings have not been curbed. I am planning a calorie-infused binge-snacking plan incorporating cheesy pretzels, two Starbucks lattes, crazy bread, and homemade mint-chocolate-chip milkshakes. Will I be sick tomorrow? Yes. But THAT will be worth it.
How utterly American to complain about not being able to eat like a pig.