The day before Day 1

I am 23 years and eight months old. As of now, I am 5 feet 4 and I weigh around 76 kilos. (gulp)

Mr BMI suggests I am overweight.

I have hit my quarter-life crisis and as a repercussion, I am feeling symptoms of old age disorders.

So I have decided to kick the KFC bucket away to a safe distance - but not so far that I can't have the occasional indulgence.

I have never tasted a drop of alcohol, neither am I a smoker. But here I am, a junk food addict of the worst kind. Why? Because I am not even sure if I enjoy it. I am too busily stuffing my face with food to think about its taste. 

Just like the Tribbianis, I eat. I have always lived to eat, and now with my new job in a lifestyle magazine, I get to eat for a living too! 

I eat when I am hungry, 

I eat when I am not hungry

I eat when I am bored,

I eat when I am sad

I eat when I am happy

I eat when there is food

I eat when I am watching TV

I just eat. 

And as an experienced eater(?!), I agree with the studies that show that junk food causes depression in the long run. 'Comfort food' is a misnomer; it should actually be called Will-Comfort-You-For-A-Moment-But-Put-You-In-A-Funk-Soon food. 

And argh, I hate the lethargy after I eat heavily. I feel like a lump of rotten potatoes, tied up in a sack and hence rendered immobile.

I want to be more active and healthy and fit and not shock myself I get into those mirror-walled trial rooms in clothing stores!

The idea now is for me to cut down on the junk (I am too practical and addicted to cut it off completely) and get myself into the gym. It's not that I hate the gym; I like the feeling of my stomach tyres trying to fight gravity. It's like a physicist conducting some top-notch experiment. But how do I get my feet of iron to get out of bed and into the gym every morning? 

Tomorrow, I will figure it out.

And a quick see-you-later hug to chocolates:

You are my gorgeous BFF but if I visualise you as shit that is hiking my dentist's bills, maybe we can be on-off acquaintances.