If you were to slice open my veins, I swear
to God I'd bleed out cheese. When my Mum left, I suddenly lost a shit-load of
weight and for the first time in my life I was actually skinny. Not because I
wasn't eating by the way, but because suddenly I was responsible for whatever
shit I wanted to stuff into my greedy face. As it turns out, I pretty
exclusively love meat, bread and not much else. It took me a few months to
realise that I'd accidentally put myself on the Atkins Diet and was probably
one spoonful of mayo away from a full cardiac arrest. In a brief attempt to
remain alive, I therefore decided to go for a jog which to my surprise started
off quite well. In fact it was so easy that for a split second I thought that I
might actually be a runner and it'd just taken me this long to try it and
realise. It didn't last... by the second minute, I was basically just dragging
myself along the pavement unable to breathe and using what little energy I had
left to try and resist the urge to puke out my fucking lungs. Oh, and none of
that is counting the time I went so long without eating fruit that my lips
started to fall off and I became the first non-pirate ever to possibly catch
scurvy. To reiterate, I might not be fat but I am not a fit or healthy person.
