How much damage could I have done in a week?

I’m guessing A LOT.

I haven’t weighed in for the past eight days. I’ve stopped tracking my calories. And I’ve ultimately stopped caring.

It started last Thursday with crepe night. I made savory crepes, stuffed with shredded chicken, broccoli, and mashed potatoes, smothered in cheese and creamy soup, and sweet crepes with Nutella and strawberry jam, sprinkled with sugar. Oh, my.

It rolled into Friday’s cupcake baking extravaganza for Saturday’s boot hockey event. Of course, there were quality control checks and The Baron and I each at 1-1/2 cupcakes that night, in addition to the crepe leftovers, both savory and sweet.

On Saturday morning, I made the puffed caramel corn and did plenty of quality control inspections on that, as well. I kept thinking that it was just nibbling and it would be okay because I’d be running my ass off during the game. It was more like I trotted my ass up and down the rink just enough to convince myself that I could then go in and eat everything that had been set out for the people who actually did work up an appetite.

I finally did get some actual exercise with an hour of snow shoeing on Sunday. Which was followed by yet more eating; shrimp scampi with linguine, roasted asparagus, and homemade heart shaped brownies dipped in melted chocolate for Valentine’s Day. Oh, and probably some cupcakes as we somehow left the boot hockey game with nearly a full dozen!

And then the sadness of the cat set in. By Monday, I pretty much knew that she was not going to bounce back and she would have to be put to sleep. So, I laid in bed scritching her behind her ears. And snacking. And scritching.

Tuesday’s appointment at the vet confirmed my fears and I spent the night in bed alone (couldn’t stand to have her near me while I was sobbing) eating. Dairy Queen blizzard, fish sandwich (those are the WORST), french fries…and, okay…cheese curds. I’m a massive blob of shame.

Last night was no better. Taco Bell. I want easy. I want my bed. I want my cat.

But I can’t continue on this way. I am bloated and uncomfortable. And I’ll be a complete mess on the edge by the time next Friday rolls around and I have to let her go. I need to take care of myself so I can take care of her at the end of her life.

I owe her at least that much after fourteen years.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 18th, 2010 at 3:24 pm and is filed under bandick, the red baron, fatty, fatty, two-by-four, stink face cats. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.