Diet Trump

It is amazing to me that in spite of whatever else happens, an entire day can be summed up as either good or bad based on my dietary intake. Yesterday ended bad. So, so bad. It started good. It just ended bad. It started with a 4 mile run, egg whites, wheat low-calorie toast, spinach and salad. It ended with french fries, chocolate and lotsa-lotsa (as in waaaay too much for a school night) red wine.

I have crafted a lot of diets in an effort to circumvent intake defaults. I have done the "baby-food diet", the "stop-drinking-wine diet", the "cigarette-meal-replacement diet", the "no-dairy-no-meat diet", and the "just-stop-eating-soooo-much-shit diet". I have an insane memory for knowing rough calorie counts of just about every possible food prepared every possible way and knowing the type of and amount of exercise needed to pay penance for my sins of gluttony.

It is also amazing to me that whatever issue is happening in life, big, small or otherwise can be completely minimized or totally glazed over with concerns of waist circumference. For example, I found out yesterday that my mother's cancer is getting worse. I also managed to have a blow out argument with one of the circle of fabulousness members (sparked by my political allegiances of all things. Totally aside, I am a Democrat and proud of it dammit!). But, my biggest concern in the forefront of my brain when I woke up (at 3am... of course... reference my very first post in this blog) was "I can't believe I ate all that crap last night. Oh no! How many pounds will that be worth now?".

It's not that I don't care about those other life events that happened yesterday. I care about them to a point of sheer pain. But, somehow, my weight/food obsession manages to perform a partial lobotomy in the emotion center of my brain each day. Clearly, focusing on weight and its relative insignificance is an avoidance coping mechanism for me.

(As an aside) Damn. I should be a therapist. Why pay someone when I clearly have it all figured out?

What is truly amazing about all of above dribble is that I have managed to write almost an entire post about the impending size of my ass rather than what I really wanted to/should be/feel obligated to actually write about which, interestingly, is my lack of writing.

I have developed a slight (and I will say strange) phobic mentality about coming back to writing in this blog. I feel as though I may have been a bit of a disappointment to some folks who started to follow this little-life-storyish dramedy of mine.

And, I understand and accept that disappointment.

I made big promises. And, I was really committed to trying to be real and funny and entertaining and raw. But, real and funny and entertaining and raw is also synonymous with emotionally draining (or to put another way: I have already been living this fantastic ulcer inducing life trip and regurgitating it in a highly interesting manner is really, really hard sometimes!!). It may also be synonymous with I kinda ran out of anything interesting to say for awhile.

To make it worse, I apologized and made promises to write more. And, then I broke that promise. And, the longer I stayed away from my needy Monsieur Blog, the easier it was to totally ignore it.

But, alas, I would like to hope that it was a brief and amicable break-up. Thanks to a very good and meaningful conversation with my friend, Brad in Cali., I have come to the conclusion that it is a matter of getting back on the fictional horse. I did not lose interest or move on to another love (unless you call sitting idly on a sofa trying to decompress while watching Sex and the City, drinking wine and eating chocolate love... Hmmm. A dashing affair maybe. But, not a healthy love.). Somewhere in this writing business, I lost my mo-jo and then created a whole slew of reasons that were unreasonable or silly that made me nervous about picking up my "pen" and reconnecting with my long lost Monsieur.

That fact is I love Monsieur. Even if it appears that we had a trial separation, I have an overwhelming need to reconcile. And, really, what a perfect time to start again. November just happens to be national novel writing month, which I was made aware of by a longtime friend who I am so happy to have recently reconnected with (and, we shall call her Emma for the sake of this blog...).

So, like a (somewhat hung-over and bloated) phoenix rising from the ashes, I shall start writing again.

Posting Recipe
In honor of the introduction of my new character, Emma, I am going to share a recipe that she gave to me that I love. It goes perfectly as the side-kick to fish and pork, or as a solo star on a tortilla chip.


Pineapple Salsa
1 c. cubed fresh pineapple (in a pinch, you can used the canned stuff)
1/4 c. chopped sweet red pepper
3 tbsp. thinly sliced green onions
2 tbsp. sugar 1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and chopped
1 tbsp. lime juice
1/2 tsp. minced fresh ginger root
2 tbsp. minced fresh cilantro

In a small serving bowl, combine all ingredients. Serve.