one strand at a time
day one
breakfast: a pear.
i know how to do this, the proof there is that i've done it. i know what i need, don't need, should eat, shouldn't eat. ugh. i get it, i really do.
then why is it so damned HARD?
i don't want my life to be a literal living hell but that's what happens to a foodie when the time has (more than) come to shed the weight AND the very bad health habits. i can eat healthy, i can. but when the family pasta meal comes around and most if not all of that meal is based solely on fat and carbs, all the willpower in the world couldn't stop me from the gargantuan pile of pasta, crunchy garlic bread, and sinful italian dessert. the latter is usually tirimisu and i defy anyone to locate any sort of low-fat mascarpone. italians are NOT known calorie/carb counters.
take a few small bites you say? just indulge once every few weeks or so? remember now, you're talking to a girl who started out as someone whose mom used to put rocks in her pockets on windy days. yes, i'm very serious, ask my mom. a girl who formed her eating habits around trying to escape the jokes (do you have to run around in the shower just to get wet?) and to look more like the popular girls with the curves. yes, back in the seventies curves were infinitely more desirable than emaciation much to my dismay. tell that to a teen today and they will walk away slowly hoping you aren't going to attack them because obviously you are running from men in white coats.
i love my relatives dearly. but when 2 or 3 older italian women would shake their heads at me as i dished out my spaghetti at gramma's eatfests and tell me to be careful because i don't exactly come from "skinny people" i guess i should've seen it coming. i could swear i recently saw one of those same women smirking silently as i put a piece of lean turkey and some cherry tomatoes on my plate. yeah, i know. payback's a bitch.
i can say that i like my spaghetti so much that i'm willing to swallow large pills, to prick my fingers & draw blood multiple times a day, to pull out a dress and gasp at the thought of subjecting anyone to even the THOUGHT of me in it. i shouldn't say it, but i can.
that's the change i'm seeking. to turn all of that around and put the stair-master, sugar-free jello and egg whites on my list of very favorites and remove warm iced cinnamon rolls, cheese-laden nachos and yes, large steaming piles of perfectly sauced spaghetti.
is it all worth it? of course it is. of course it is. say it with me mantra-style: of course it is. if you don't believe me, ask the girl with rocks in her pockets.
Yes..I put those rocks in her pocket, my skinny little baby girl, with the bony knees! I was afraid that the Santa Ana's would pick her up on the way to school and I'd never see her again.
Rocks are a mere "tie me over" alternative to the comsumption of some of God's greatest creations, tomatoes, garlic, basil, oregano, peppers, onions, and wheat that brings forth strands of golden delectibles designed and destined to be accepted in the loving spirit in which it was given. Therefor, in light of the insistence of God the Father, it behooves me, behooves me I say! To partake and consume until I can partake and consume no more. At the end of the meal I bow down and give thanks to the ingenuity of the Romans and their construction of the vomitorium which is the catalsyst that will allow the perpetuation of this magnificant food stooper we have found our self in. The last remaining question is one of either lemon ice or pitachio ice cream, to have both would be glutenous. These are are the questions our children's children will be asking the years to come. Well, there is always another day. Bon apite Terri Girl.