Crankypants

It is Day 10 of Whole 30.

If I see one more post with a photo of a hardboiled eggs and 10 blueberries next to a cup of black coffee, with a caption reading, “Gosh, I felt so full,” I will probably need to be sedated.

Other you-have-to-be-fucking-kidding-me photos/moments:

–a dinner of two lettuce leaves filled with approximately 1 tablespoon each of taco meat and some diced tomato.

–a small green salad with no protein. (Felt stuffed? Get stuffed.)

–a photo of what is supposed to be meal prep for a whole week, and includes cut up oranges. Honey, we all know what those sad, dried-out oranges are going to be like in two days, much less five.

–Whole 30 “packable lunch ideas,” that include recipes with more steps than the French recipes from 1950s cooking magazines.

–one more person who waxes rhapsodic about spaghetti squash and says their family can’t even tell the difference! Either you’re lying or you live with a bunch of idiots.

Yes, I’ve reached the Crankypants portion of the program, where I’m tired of living, eating, breathing, talking, dreaming, and planning my life around Whole 30.

I understand the point of all this. I won’t deny my joints feel better and I seem to have more energy. Just venting here, as opposed to all the Whole 30 blogs that make it sound like sunshine will be beaming out of your ass for the entire 30 days if you just make a meal plan and stick to it. If you just do more meal prep. If you just drink the Kool-Aid and say only positive, lovely, unicorn-fart affirmations about how great the whole journey is.

I am disgruntled. I will continue, but the “I’m so stuffed!” posts with a photo of barely enough food to keep an imaginary friend alive are killing me.

Where’s that sedative?

 

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