Thursday, 24 April 2008

I never give you my number...

I am unhealthy. In fact, the previous statement is somewhat of an understatement. I am extremely, indulgently, to the point of riskiness, unhealthy.

Its risky.
Risky business.

You dont want to ne CEO of that company...

I have certain touchstones in the respect of dietary requirements. Engorgement would be a word, but somehow I feel it would be somewhat enobling the process with a three syllable word, when I can describe myself with a single, monosyllabic adjective.
Gross pig.
Okay, that was two, but nevertheless, my point stands true, with definite concerns being present in my eating habits. Heart attacks, mostly, but instead I would like to examine the psychological process behind the whole pre-eating situation. My brain thinks, "I have money. This is new, hey, fancy.
What can I buy? What dont I need?"

The two questions are extremely closely linked, probably to the point where if I were to learn how ven-diagrams work, and make one between these two questions, there would be a sure-fire crossover.
However, the latter seems to be somewhat subconscious, with the answer arguably being; "Food. Lots and lots of food.
Put on weiiiiiiight"

And, expectantly, I cant take it. 3 cans of red bull have made me both unfit and scared for my life, as my heart stands on the cusp of defeat.

Ah well. One can only hope that I do not die. From food. Which can happen. Ive seen it on 't telly.

Even though I weigh...(intermission as I go weigh myself)...11 & 1/2 stone.

Water weight?!

I mean its heavier than the last time I measured myself. Admittedly that was 2005. But still. Its bad. Or nothing to worry about. nothing to worry about. nothing to worry about.

Oh Goats cheese sandwich, You shall be my downfall.

This is a slight anticlimax...

Youve been a great audience!

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