Yo-Yo Diet?

I feel like Yo-Yo Ma's cello. Plucked and prodded and bruised all over, with a left quad tighter than the A string and a hollow feeling inside.

And we've only been dancing one day.....

I've got to get over this. Isn't it what they call "good" pain, the hurt that comes from exercise? I should embrace it. With all the workouts I'm getting, I'm going to be one fit witch by opening night. Firmer than Madonna's inner thigh.

The powers that be have reiterated the "No weight loss" order, sparking numerous sightings of nuns happily tucking into bacon sandwiches and the like. The canteen has lost its air of deprivation and the mood at lunchtime is jubiant; ecstatic, even.

I'm always on some sort of diet, and as I guess the "no weight loss" thing probably extends to "no weight gain" either, I'm going to have to remain on one. I watched miserably this morning as two of my collegues cheerfully munched their way through a breakfast baguette, all sausage and egg and gloriously oozing butter. I think I may have stared too long. I'm now a little worried that I may have absorbed some of the fat through osmosis. I'm sure it's possible. In fact, my skirt feels a little tight now.....