Sugarless is S**t-house
I'm a chubbo desperately ashamed of the several winter 'coats' I've managed to put on this year; I'm also frustratingly sleep-deprived for various reasons and am subsequently trying to lay off the chocolate and the sugar for both of those reasons.
As such, my mood is not one of sunshine, puppy dogs and sing-songs. My eyeballs feel as though they've been dipped in honey and then rolled in coconut and I suspect the huge bags underneath are where my pesky missing finance documents are hiding. Coffee is not doing the trick. It doesn't rev me up but instead leaves me feeling as though a wino's slept in my mouth and farted there and I worry that my head will soon give up responsibility for maintaining my central nervous system and instead just mash my face into the keyboard.
And isn't it always times like these that you can a) smell the bacon'n' egg burgers, hot chips and butter chicken curries wafting upstairs from the Kaf below;
b) notice that all family-sized (or single MillyMoo-portion sized) blocks of Cadbury, Dove, Nestle, Heaven and Lindt are on special; and
c) wake up in the middle of the night with every fibre of my insomniac being screaming for "Marshmallows! Musk sticks! Toffees! A trough of chocolate topping with chunks of rocky road bobbing in it!!!"
Sadly for my work mates, this has also translated into my turning into the Odious Office Orangutan, though slightly less attractive. A single spilt grain of coffee on the counter sends me into the sulks; every single bloody little request has to be accompanied by an online and hard-copy signed form that is prompty lost or forgotten about by the departmental dipsh*t in control which I then get blamed for; and the fatuously named 'Telephone Help Desk' anonymous operator number seven earned an ear bashing for asking me to list what the faulty number was: "LOOK you mental pgymy, that's what this seventh phone call is about - will you please install and GIVE us a new phone number or is your one and only brain cell too busy sniffing the liquid paper beside you?!"
The now-frightened Campus services guy told me today that the roofers are apparently refusing to come down until I leave or stop threatening to kill them. Actually I don't think I'm out of order on this last point - there's only so many times I can hear the short one scream the lyrics to 'You're Beautiful' in a voice that Barry Gibb would envy and the dread-locked one's steel-capped efforts at riverdancing his way around has made him about as sexy as syphilis in my copy book. Not to mention that every squeal, step and drilling sound they make produces a constant shower of pollen, dust, dead leaves and that creepy grey bunny fluff that litters my desk, clogs up the keyboard and ices the phone.
Love Chunks has now returned from his fortnight stint overseas, so you'd think that I could now enjoy a good night's sleep without my buzzing body thinking "Oh no you don't - you're the only adult here, so you're on duty 24/7", but no. Sleep seems to be eluding me as cleverly as a calorie does for Kate Bosworth.
It's not his fault and part of my crankiness is that I have no-one to blame for my insomnia or for the greed that has led me to this diet: just big, old, fat, stupid me. LC is at home with Sapphire today, and rang earlier to inform me that they were going to make some scones together and did he want me to bring in a fresh batch to share at my work, complete with jam and clotted cream? It sounded just as heavenly as these donuts, but I blinked back the tears and muttered, "Errrrm no thanks, hardly anyone's around today." Meaning I'd scoff the lot and then let my inner Dietary Devil loose and decide to eat out the first four rows of the chocolate vending machine on the floor located immediately below my Australia-sized arse.
One consolation gleaned is from Love Chunks himself. His stint in Washington left him with more than a couple of rather unflattering portraits of the 'average American' he encountered whilst over there. "I couldn't believe how obese so many of them are, and the air was constantly cluttered with the sound and smell of farting...!"
Maybe that's the trick, the best way say goodbye to my Grumpy Guts stage - save my money and book a flight to America - I'll blend in perfectly over there.