Well this fucking sucks.

I quit smoking at the end of last year. It was a planned event that I didn’t tell anyone about just because I didn’t want to share the information.

I expected to put on a little weight as a result of it – everyone does. The transmitters in your brain that tell you you need a cigarette are closely linked to the transmitters that tell you you’re hungry.

So when you give up nicotine it’s not entirely unheard of for a person to experience a couple of days of eating and maybe put on 2–3 kilos.

For a normal adult male this additional food intake wouldn’t worry them. For me however, this additional food intake has been quite literally catastrophic.

In March of last year I weighed (as near as makes no difference) 150kg. I was sick, I was unhealthy and given the history of Heart Disease and Diabetes on both sides of my family tree, I was in real danger of a chronic health event.

I had to do something – inaction in this case clearly being the equivalent of Elvis’ legendary deep fried sandwiches so I went into a heavily modified Atkins eating plan combined with calorie control.

Which worked. I went from an average daily intake of 6000 calories to 1500. I reduced my appetite and in doing so reduced my waist size and lost 28 kilos.

So given that I’ve been maintaining a calorie controlled eating plan, the single worst thing that could possibly happen is for that to be catastrophically derailed.

It’s no fucking wonder I’ve had a combined total of just 15.5hrs sleep in the first 4 nights of this year.

My appetite though is finally starting to subside and come back to what it was. Thankfully I’ve only put on 4 kilos. I’m also now so tired that I don’t think there’ll be any issue with me sleeping tonight.

The problem now is making it there. Grumpy fucking cunt mode hasn’t just been engaged. It’s been jammed into the “don’t fuck with me” setting and then the nobs been broken off.

Hopefully the next news from me is that I’ve actually managed to get some sleep. Preferably not at the the wheel though.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.