I’m feeling a little proud. Smug if you will.
I’ve managed to go NINETEEN WHOLE DAYS without chocolate. Two weeks today, you will likely find me in a chocolate induced coma. I’ll probably be in bed. Obviously. Surrounded by empty chocolate wrappers; the sweet, brown stuff smeared across my chops with an unmistakable chocolatey grin that informs you exactly what I’ve spent my day doing.
It’ll be heaven.
Or will it?
What if I discover I no longer like chocolate?
That’s a thought that’s been playing on my mind the last few days.
Don’t get me wrong, this has been a long hard slog. The first 10 days were, dare I say it, harder than the first 10 days of giving up smoking. I had the most intense chocolate cravings, paired with a severe lack of energy and a moody disposition. Moodier than usual, which is a feat it has to be said.
However, the last few days have gotten easier.
OK, so being greeted by this GIANT sized bag of Mini Eggs in ASDA yesterday was a challenge. I picked the bag up, fingered it for a few seconds, had a sniff (luckily I didn’t get physically removed from the store) but then put it back upon the shelf and headed to the biscuit aisle instead.
It’s even got a handle. It’s like a handbag of mini eggs.
Lemon Cheesecake Digestives. Three little words that prior to this Dechox I’d have rolled my eyes at. Hard. Where’s the chocolate? I’d have proclaimed. You can’t really enjoy a biscuit without the addition of chocolate.
Oh but you can my friends, you really can.
So much so, I’m already half way through my second packet of the tart, crumbly biscuits that have benefited well from the lack of chocolate. And I wonder why the scales aren’t showing the benefit of a lack of chocolate in my diet quite so well.
One thing I am continuing to miss as I enter my third full week of refraining from anything and everything that contains chocolate are Mocha’s.
I’m not a fan of coffee on its own. I like coffee flavoured chocolates and I like chocolate flavoured coffee but without the sweet undertones the addition of chocolate offers, I find coffee on its own far too bitter. It gives me the same facial expression as green tea. Visual aid below.
On a Friday morning I work remotely from a café near my son’s pre-school. Usually the order of the day goes like so; cup of tea, mocha, cup of tea, orange juice, maybe another cup of tea. Come 11:30am I’m experiencing a serious caffeine surge and I almost start shaking like a shitting dog. I’ll spare you the visual aid of that, shall I?
Instead it’s a cup of tea, orange juice and then maybe another cup of tea. Depending on the time of the month that is, it’s the week before pay day so such luxuries need to take a back seat until my bank account is looking slightly more buoyant. That minus symbol is haunting me like the ghost of Christmas past at the moment.
It’s been another tough week at Chez Our Rach. More sleepless nights, more illnesses, more tantrums and an overuse of the word no.
Thursday was a particularly tricky day. Normally if I’d been kept awake by a pissed up nause who spent the night groaning, shouting, stomping about, snoring and turning every single bastard light on in the house I’d have reached for the chocolate. In abundance. Especially as I felt like I had a hangover myself, due to the stale stench of alcohol that permeated throughout my bedroom through the course of Wednesday night. Instead, I went for another brown food item. Marmite.
Thank God for Marmite.