Take My Debit Card Away

I bought ice cream today. Or rather, I let my husband buy ice cream. It's like second nature to just say yes to sugar. I don't even feel guilty about it, for the most part. Why does food have to be so good?
I applaud those people who can eat lettuce and grilled chicken and shit. That's not me. My lettuce is usually covered in ranch and cheese and bacon and probably eggs. And I like chicken, when it's covered in 11 Herbs and Spices. The problem for me is the fact that eating healthy is expensive as hell. And we be broke. I usually feed myself at night, and the baby. My husband works at dinner time. So why am I gonna go all out and grill up some salmon and put it on whatever the hell polenta is when it's just me eating? I can throw a microwave burrito in and eat some chips and be happy with that. Here lately I've been at least making some sort of effort not to eat like a high schooler. I actually bought fish and rice. That steams in the microwave of course-it serves two but I'll eat it for two nights, which makes spending the 7 bucks worth it to me.

Here's what I'm thinking. I think once I get to the end of week two in said running program, I'll really start to focus on what I'm eating. I'll throw out my logic that if I don't eat breakfast I can eat more at lunch and dinner, and start digging on some oatmeal or something. One step at a time, okay? Let's get past wanting to die from running 5 minutes before I cut out the rest of my guilty pleasures. I think this is better anyway, making it a process. Otherwise I'm just going to end up saying fuck it like I do to every other diet out there, going out and getting something covered in bacon and following it with cheesecake.

I want to be able to wear some kind of cute shirt when I go to Nashville for this Supernatural Convention. Not be some giant pig walking around in something that I shouldn't. I want to show myself off.

Pretty much, today was a fail for me. My legs hurt like a bitch, I slept for like an hour on the couch, and put too much cheese in my chili. But it's okay. Because tomorrow, I'll get up and run, even if it's colder than santa's nipples outside.