Flogging

I am flustered, flabbergast, floundering and flummoxed.

I am flailing.

Despite valiant and persistent efforts to lose weight my flab is flourishing.

My life of pie has made me fleshy and I am copping a lot of flack from friends. I am feigning flippancy but I don’t like it.

I don’t like it at all.

I am currently on a diet where I consume mostly flavourless fluids – drunk from flagons and flasks – and they make me flatulent. I am also undertaking a strict regimen of exercise but I feel like I am flogging a dead horse. It has flattened and floored me.

I also appear to be in a frenzy of writing words that begin with ‘fl’ and I have no idea why.

I am flinching.

I have been riding my bike and walking and working out frequently and frenetically and I have been very frugal with my intake of food. I have been eating fresh fruits and have avoided consuming anything that is fried. However I am hungry all of the time and I feel fragile and frail. My fat tummy does not seem to be diminishing very much either and I am fretting.

I now seem to have drifted into using words that begin with ‘fr’ and I once again do not know why.

It is frustrating and frightening.

A fussy and funny friend of mine recommended that I drink a lot of water to make me full. He told me that this is one of the fundamentals of a successful weight loss program. I have taken his advice but it just feels like the water is sloshing around in my empty tummy. I therefore think that this strategy might be futile and will have no future. The absence of solid food has significantly weakened me and I feel that I need more fuel to function. I will however persist with my diet and my exercise program and I will fumble on to try and fulfill my target weight.

I best stop writing for I now appear to have slipped into an overuse of words that begin with ‘fu’. A fuming fury is festering within me.

It is fucked.