Oh joy of fucking joys - I have been back into a call centre job for all of three weeks and I have already gained four kilo's.
Not happy Jan. Not happy at all.
Sure, it has been a fairly stressful few weeks. I've been labeled offensive and provocative by some silly whores who think they rule the universe (my partner in crime, Duxie, will back me up on this one), and I've actually been physically sick with rage from said whore-attending meetings.
But why do I have to fall back into the bad habits? Why do I feel the need to get a snickers or a kit kat form the vending machine? Who says I must get a doubler quarter pounder meal on the way home before I cook dinner?
So I am officially BACK ON TRACK (tm) - no more shit food, back to the gym, back to walking poor fat Rosie pup.
If you see me eating shit, you officially have permission to punch me in the ribs (there you go Duxie, punch away).
There's no way on the planet I'm going back to this -