Dear Diary, I’m serious this time.

Dear Diary,

I did it again. Last night was my coworkers’ going away party at the bar down the street from the office. Everyone came, even my boss. The night started out ok, I guess; we left the office around 5:15 pm and headed to the Milky Hornthistle. It's a stupid name for a bar if you ask me. I didn’t choose the place; Ronnie did. That woman loves a dive bar. But anyway, we got there, and everyone sat at a big harvest table. The light was dim, and the room stunk of old rotting wood and spilled beer. Waves of nausea crashed came over me, and I felt the all too familiar hunger pangs, I know I had to eat. I was starving. I skipped lunch to work on the quarterly reports. Someone (Ronnie) didn’t get theirs in on time. It meant I was behind. I sat down and ordered some chicken fingers and a pint. I know, I know, New Year’s Resolution – no more chicken fingers, blah blah blah. But I was starving! And They ordered shots the moment we sat down, I knew I’d be in trouble if I didn’t eat. The server was rude and in her twenties. She screwed up her heavily made-up face when I ordered the fingers. She tapped her Doc Matin’d foot at me and proceeded to say, “No food.” I couldn’t believe the place didn’t serve food. My stomach lurched and grumbled with emptiness. I swore that I would only stay for one beer, just one. But Ronnie kept ordering shots, and my boss bought everyone beers. Before I realized it, I got drunk. I vaguely remember Andrew from sales licking salt off my face, or did I lick salt off him? Ahhh, why am I like this? To be honest, I don’t remember much of the night. I woke up this morning in my bed fully clothed, my wallet gone and an imprint of my keys on my forehead. I must have fallen into bed with my keys in hand. It's Saturday, so I don’t have to face my coworkers. I must have left my wallet at the bar, but I’m too embarrassed to go back there. God, how could I be so stupid? How did I let this happen again? I blame that rotten Ronnie. She wears short skirts and has an insatiable need to please everyone. At the same time, she’s the laziest person I’ve ever met. Fucking Ronnie. Ok, maybe it’s not her fault. Why am I like this? I have to call the Hornthistle. But something needs to change, I can’t keep blacking out and waking up with missing parts. What is my boss going to say? I can’t think about that right now. Keys first.

Day 1. Sunday.

Dear Diary,

This is it. I’m doing it. I am going to fix my life. I am committing to 30 days of no booze, no bread, and NO boys. It’s my three B plan. I’m serious this time. I cleaned out my fridge of all the junk, poured the last of my Jim Beam down the sink and I even signed up for yoga. That’s right, world, you are looking at a new woman. She cooks, she drinks water, she does downward dog or whatever the crap they do in yoga. She is me, and I am her. Tonight, for dinner, I am having baked chicken and broccoli. For dessert, I found a cottage cheese ice cream recipe on Instagram. Cottage cheese is having a moment. People are putting that stuff in everything. I don’t know if it’ll be good, but I’m eating it. This is not a diet. It’s a lifestyle change. I’ll start with a month and see where it goes, who knows maybe this is my calling. Then, I can quit my job and be an influencer! I'll get paid to be thin and record myself doing mundane tasks and get paid. That is a dream right there. So here we go, diary, day one of the rest of my life.

Day 2. Monday

Dear Diary,

I walked into the office this morning. The lurking feeling of embarrassment followed me around all day. Andrew, from sales, kept making eyes at me. Dear God, I hope we didn’t make out. I avoided him like the plague and didn’t leave my desk for most of the day. Ronnie wore pants today which was a nice change of pace, she looked like shit which made me smile a little. It's not the nicest thing, but Ronnie is the worst. She still strutted around the office like a cat in heat. I think she’s sleeping with the boss, but I have no proof. I ate my kale salad with chicken, drank green tea and three litres of water. I have a wretched headache, probably from my body detoxing. I have been consuming a lot of Matltezers lately. It’ll take a couple days to get out of my system. At least, I hope so because so far, I feel like a bag of smashed a-holes. It's not pleasant. Also, my stomach is upset. It could be from the kale. Or maybe because, as a last hurrah, I ate a Big Mac, large fries, and had a few vodka sodas. Vodka has like no calories, and I knew today I was all in—no more shenanigans. I am a picture of health and wellness. Tomorrow I am going to start a new Instagram account, that will keep me accountable. I’ll share my journey. Maybe Nike or Fitbit will sponsor me. Or maybe the Kardashians' flat-tummy teas. I could sure use that. Anyway, I’m committed, and even though I know there will be cake in the office tomorrow, I won’t have any. I will be strong.

Day 4. Wednesday

Dear Diary,

Things are going well. I have ten new followers on my Instagram account, @fitzinlyfe32. It’s not exactly the best name. @wellnessismypassion and @getfitwithme were both taken, so I guess it will do. I ate exactly as planned yesterday. No cake, no sneaky chocolate bar from the vending machine. For dinner, I had kale soup with beans and mushrooms. I gotta say, a lot of these recipes have kale. People love kale. I don’t love it, perse, but it’s fine. Andrew sent me a pervy text after lunch, I guess we did make out. apparently, I told him I’d always had a thing for him. I could die. Andrew is cute enough I guess, he’s kinda tall and lanky. He wears his pants really high, and when I say high, I mean his belt loops are neighbours with his nipples. He also repeats himself a lot, and it drives me crazy. He told me three times since Monday about his mom’s dead cat. I want to yell, “I KNOW ABOUT THE CAT; BUY REGULAR PANTS, YOU FREAK,” but that would be cruel. I hide a lot at work. My desk is small and dusty, and it’s in the back corner of the office where there isn’t a lot of foot traffic. Sometimes, I find Ronnie in the store closet beside my desk. She just pops outta there. It’s odd. Tomorrow is my first yoga class! I am heading there straight after work, no excuses. The team goes for drinks after work on Thursdays, so I scheduled my class at the same time. I am about to give downward dog a new meaning in my world, which involves spandex and meditation. Wish me luck!

Day 7. Saturday

Dear Diary,

Whoever decided to bring yoga to the Western world can suck it. Beginner’s class, my ass! I nearly died. I showed up 15 minutes early like they asked. I wore my best tights, usually reserved for marathoning The Office. I also brought a water bottle and a yoga mat. I set up in the corner with a few others around me, I had hoped I could blend into the background. The instructor was a long-legged, graceful being with a top knot and a six-pack. She moved with the grace and stability of a gazelle. On the other hand, I moved with the grace and instability of a newly-born giraffe. My legs wobbled, and my core was not strong. I walked out of there drenched in sweat with an oddly swollen ankle. It was the worst. But I avoided after-work drinks! Andrew pestered me to come for a drink, but I ignored his texts. The day after yoga I could barely move, my arms hurt, my butt ached, even my fingernails hurt. I don’t know how that’s possible, but they hurt. I was in so much pain that I treated myself to a few chicken fingers from the gas station on the way home from work. Not exactly part of the plan, but I was in pain! I’m still in pain. For breakfast today, I had scrambled eggs and some fruit. They’re running a Harry Potter marathon, so that’s where I’ll be. Still no booze, though. Oh, and I lost three followers. Apparently, the fitness community doesn’t like it when you talk badly about yoga. I angered a few almond moms.

Day 11. Wednesday

Dear Diary,

I know I have been MIA the past few days, but I’ve been busy. Things at work went absolutely haywire. The big account I was working on pulled out. This caused a mountain of paperwork. On top of that, I was trying to secure funding from another source. My boss lost his temper. I’ve had to stay late for a couple of days, and I will admit, I ate like crap. We ordered pizza at the office, and Andrew, Ronnie, the weird accountant, and I went out for wings. Although I didn’t drink, so I guess it’s not a complete loss. Anyway, Im off to sleep, another big day tomorrow. But I will not get drinks after work, I repeat, I will not get drinks after work.

Day 12. Thursday

Dear Diarie,

Don’t be mad, ok? I saw Andrew flirting with Ronnie at lunchz and it made me mad, what wass I supposedz to do? Sure shes curter tjan me and doesn’t fall off bars stoolz. I only had a fews drinksss. Shitzzz. I did it again.

Day 13. Friday

Dear Diary,

I did it again. My head is pounding. I think I made out with Ronnie after Andrew left. He got mad at me for saying his nipples were Canada and his pants were the US. He stormed out and stuck me with his bill! The nerve of that guy. I guess Ronnie found it funny because then before I knew it, we were making out. I think she drove me home. Ahhhh, why am I like this? OK, starting tomorrow, I need to make a change. No more booze, ever. I’m serious this time.