I had cookie batter for lunch today. All of it.
I feel like I have a hangover now. Without all the happy memories and mystery bruises. I feel guilty and sorry and I want that cool device that Hermoine used to use to get to classes (time-turner?) to undo my eating of this cookie batter.
People do it all the time. Everywhere. I think. People want to lose weight, they don’t eat the cookie. But then they get so hung up on not having eaten the cookie that their whole life is about the cookie. And then they eat the cookie and stare at the rest of the cookies and sigh because saying ‘Fuck’ out loud is not appropriate in most guilty-cookie-eating situations.
I just… I don’t know… I really appreciate chocolate. I live alone. I am single and unemployed. My closest relatives live in Oman, which, let’s face it, isn’t even really Asia if you come to think of it. Chocolate just seems to make it all feel alright. But I can’t even enjoy some nice cookie batter without some part of my mind questioning my actions.
Are you sure you don’t have the munchies?
Why did you even start with cookies? Who BAKES cookies?
Do you know how much cardio it will take to burn all those calories? Do you know how many calories you have to burn in the first place?
And I’m just here like AAAAAAAAAAAH THAT’S SO OUT OF SYLLABUS!
So I got out for a run in the evening but got back after a kilometer because I forgot that I’m out of shape and can’t run more than a kilometer. I ran slower than internet explorer on 90’s dial up, but I ran. Turns out, no amount of motivational quotes or health facts can get me to exercise the way an ‘L’ label on the Zara pants that (finally) fit me can. And in the hour that I took to complete my kilometer run (ok I wasn’t that slow, I had to keep stopping because my ponytail wouldn’t hold), I thought of the deeper things in life, like how raisin cookies pretending to be chocolate chip cookies are the main reason I have trust issues.
And somewhere between stopping from excitement because I thought I was thinning down (I wasn’t, my sweatpants came untied) and re-tying my ponytail for the billionth time I realized, nobody cares. What does it matter if my waistline is 24 or 34, whether I have a thigh gap or bat wings (fitness-freak terminology for arm-jiggle), whether I can run a kilometer or ten? Besides, I’m in India. There are people who live as vegetarians or don’t eat egg all their lives (so half the desserts are off the table). I can’t compete with people who’s religion has a built in weight loss plan. No. If I’m not getting any joy out of it, nobody else is either.
If you gotta force it, leave it alone.
Relationships, workouts, ponytails. Just leave it.
Life is too short to not have cookie batter for lunch.
P.S. I also finished that jar of Nutella. Yes.