I know, I know, I know. I have a healthy yummy salad that’s creamy rich with chevre, just teeming with vitamins. That’s not all, I also have strawberries with vanilla yogurt.
But screw it. I’m SICK. I want delicious cakey refined sugary white bleached floury no-vitamin treats! So I had a scone from the caf downstairs. It won over the Nanaimo bar because the bar was looking oozy and diseased. That’s right, I’m resorting to eating hospital cafeteria baked goods. It was healthy, really. It had blueberries. And there must’ve been some goodness in the four pats of butter (each individually packaged in plastic and foil) I slathered on it.
I’m sick. It’s the salad’s fault. Isn’t eating fresh, brightly coloured raw vegetables supposed to boost your immune system, make your skin all glowing with vibrant health, make you feel good all over? I’ve been at it for what, two weeks now? And we’re talking AT it. I counted. Two and a half cups of greens, then another cup of veggies, and two servings of fruit, that’s between five and six servings in my lunch alone. So the salad and fruits didn’t protect me from getting sick, therefore it’s their fault that I’m sick. Following me? I should be the picture of good health, and yet I’ve got no less than eleven zits on my face (you wanted to know that, didn’t you?), I’m exhausted, I’m coughing, my throat hurts and I have a fever.
Whine, whine, irrational venting, whine, whine, whine.