Nothing derails progress like getting sick. After a strong start, I got the flu, and promptly decided that eating was for the birds. Usually, getting sick means copious amounts of soup and ice cream to soothe my aching throat, but the flu knocked me down and sat on me for five days. Two pieces of toast seemed like a feast. And, once recovered, I was so relieved that eating no longer felt like a chore, that I, um, overindulged? Sure, that words sounds vague enough.
But, of course, there will always be something. Excuses are everywhere. I am so thrilled to be moving this week. I miss my pots and pans, my cupboards full of healthy ingredients just waiting to be combined! Oh, red lentils, I cannot wait to sup upon your goodness! Come hither and let me dine! (Ignore those last two sentences. The flu has forced my brain to revert to 17th century England.)