« Culture Clash | Main | HOT DOG »

New haircut. Snip snippity and it’s all gone. (Bigger pic here if you can’t tell what’s going on with it.) Thank goodness it’s gone too cause it’s blazingly hot today. Kyle made me walk all the way from my work (which is by Waterside) over to freaking Freemason Abbey for lunch today (it’s far when you’re wearing open toe wedges okay?), and I have blisters. It’s great. Back to the haircut though, Matt did a great job as always. Send him a myspace message and get your hair cut, you hippie.

My house is just one big training camp, all that goes on is dog training, me doing my 5K training program, me going to the gym for weight training and me trying to see exactly HOW fast I can cook dinner and have it still be enjoyable.

I debated whether or not to write about this here, but screw it. If I have to entertain yall with stories about cardio funk and pictures of cute dogs, you get to hear me be real every once in a while too. In case you read a feed, this one falls in the category called Fat. If you came here to read about design or apartment therapy or boston terriers, my apologies. Those of you who know about my struggle with food and disordered eating habits will understand how much these next few paragraphs mean.

I’m afraid I’ve gotten practically utilitarian about food. I still like to cook, and of COURSE I still like to eat, but it’s weird how much my mindset about food has changed in the past few months. I used to obsess over food, agnonize over it. Plan menus for dinner while I was at work. Fantasize about what I would eat when we’d go out for dinner. Think about the weekend and wonder what my dad would be cooking when I went over on Sunday. Food controlled everything. Food was a reason to hang with friends, to go out with Jimmy, to get home at the end of a day.

I used to have this love/loathing relationship with going out for dinner. I would hate to order something off the menu, because I wanted to try EVERYTHING on the menu. I would spend forever deciding what I wanted. I knew that I should order some grilled chicken or fish or a salad, but I would WANT the burger and fries or the creamy pasta dish. I would sincerely feel like I was missing out if I didn’t eat that stuff. It’s hard to describe, and if you haven’t struggled with food to a degree, you won’t get it, but I would have a lump in my throat sitting there worrying that I chose the wrong dish, that what I was about to eat wouldn’t satisfy me or be the Most Tasty Thing In The Universe.

Now I just order what looks good and what doesn’t blow my points. Sometimes it’s grilled chicken or a salad, sometimes it’s pizza. One time when I was starting to internally flip out over the menu, I actually found myself thinking, “You will be full whether you eat the huge slab of meat and fries or whether you eat the grilled fish. You won’t even remember what you ate tomorrow, and you’ll be pooping it out in a few hours, so WHY are you agonizing over this?”

That was my AHA moment. Food isn’t ruling my life these days. I feel like I’ve shaken something off that held my progress back for so many years. Yeah, yeah I was a high-functioning foodaholic, 99.98% of people who know me wouldn’t even know I had that kind of relationship with food (oh, except that I’m fat, but other than that). It’s utterly bizarre to realize that some inanimate object can wield such power over you, no matter how smart, talented or logical you are. Addiction is a weird thing. Breaking that cycle is one of the most empowering things in the world.

I just needed to write that down.

Comments