intervention anyone?

Among other things, I have obsessive compulsive eating disorder. This, of course, is a self-diagnosis. I self-diagnose a lot. If there is a disorder for perpetual self-diagnosis (separate and apart from hypochondria), I'm pretty sure I have that, too.

I feel rotund. [Come to think of it, the title of this blog should have been bottom line as my bottom line is getting HUGE.] Today was going to be the day that I started practicing healthy eating again. And, then, I had pop tarts for breakfast - which is bizarre considering I can't even remember the last time I have eaten a pop tart. I followed that nonsense up with a cafe mocha from Tim Hortons.

Epic. Fail.

My excuse is that I'm tired. I've been working late. I have projects. With deadlines. My knees hurt. And, I have a golf tournament on Monday next week (which I'm certain I have no business playing in), so I have to finish my projects early. I will be working all weekend. Sigh.

The more I work, the more I eat and the less I work OUT. The less I work out, the more I want to eat and the more I end up sleeping. I was ready for a nap at 8:49 this morning. I mean, honestly, I just yawned on a client phone call AND I did not even attempt to disguise it. WHO AM I?

I ate like SEVEN chocolate chip cookies last night. It's my husband's fault. He baked them. As I was shoving them in my piehole, I was having the following mental conversation - Skinny me: "dude, you're NOT EVEN HUNGRY. Stop eating. You're going to regret it." Gluttonous me: "Shut up. You deserve it, you worked sooooo hard today doing all that really HARD thinking. Have another." And, I did. And, then I did, again.

At this rate, I could turn out to be one of those people that goes through a drive-thru, orders an obscene amount of food and then parks in a deserted alleyway to binge eat and then cries about it on national television to Montel Williams. I kid. I would never hide in an alleyway.

The solution? I am also a self-medicater. I now need to cut out dozens of pictures from 1 of the 254 Victoria Secret magazines that are delivered to my office every week and plaster them around my office. You know, as MOTIVATION. I'm sure this will either go over exceptionally well with my boss, or be an utter disaster. In any event, I concede that it is a particularly dysfunctional habit, beating my OCD eating disorder into submission by further damaging my self-esteem. But, by golly is it effective. Especially since I know that the closest those girls would get to eating a chocolate chip cookie would be to touch it and then lick their fingers. I, too, shall get there. It's only a matter of time . . .