I did so well. I enjoyed my food and thought consciously about what I was eating. That felt good and then as if I had won and been awarded some special prize that said "this will not count against you" came to me, I blew it at dinner.
We made pizza. I could eat pizza every night, I think, and still look forward to it the next day. I carefully made a pizza without meat. I piled the veggies on it, mushrooms, black olives, onions and green peppers. Mmmmm, it looked so yummy! I used less cheese than I usually do.
And then I spied the leftover dough. I grabbed it without waiting to examine my feelings or intentions and made it into a buttery, garlic, truly addictive pan of breadsticks. Yep, it done me in.
I could not get enough of it. I tried, but failed.
And when my own gorgeous pizza was done, I carefully cut off just a portion of it, being oh so careful not to overindulge. But I had waaaaaay too many breadsticks and then two extra slivers of pizza besides.
I came so far...to have botched it at the end. So I jogged on the mini trampoline for 30 minutes. I sure hope it helped.
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