eat the pizza and let me watch, okay?

I am very hungry lately.  The only excuse for the lolcat, I swear.

It was a long and difficult winter.  Post-Christmas, in particular, was exceedingly snow-filled and miserable.  What I do in situations like that is, unfortunately, eat.  And eat.  And eat.  I love food – I love cooking it, smelling it, and most importantly, eating it.  So eat I did.  And now I’m at my “it’s time to exercise and eat a lot of salad” weight (you know, there’s unachievable weight, low-normal weight, normal weight, kind of heavy weight, hey, wait, my pants don’t fit weight, and the aforementioned time to exercise weight).  I’m really not concerned w/my size vis a vis what I see on TV or anything – at my absolutely fittest I’m not a super skinny girl.  I’m curvy.  I’m okay with that.  But I do recognize it’s time to drop the winter fat (damn you, takoyaki!) and get to a healthier place.

But I hate it.  I’m pretty good at it (having lost 30 pounds in a healthy way a few years back), but I really hate it.  Food, to me, is a means of expression.  I make a bowl of chicken soup and I’m in a warm and homey, it’s fun to have a family place.  I make udon and spicy tofu, I’m feeling a little bored and need some stimulation.  And so on.  Yes, I’m perfectly aware that I don’t have to eat all this self expression, but eat it I do.  So now I have to be in a crisp lovely greens and small portions of protein kind of mood.  When what I really am is angry.

It’s just like quitting smoking.  I sit on the couch with my arms folded.  I’m not going to eat the ice cream in the fridge.  I can have ice cream if I eat sensibly and exercise at least 3 days a week for the next two weeks, remember?  That’s reasonable.  I hate reasonable.  I remember doing the same thing when I quit smoking 8+ (!!!) years ago.  Just sitting and seething, knowing that I was making a healthy choice but hating every second of it. 

The exercise is painful, too, but at least more active and enjoyable.  It’s easier to do something than notdo something, you know what I mean?  Plus, I’m back on the silly Tae Bo which, I know, is pretty ridiculous but it really, really works for me.  I took dance lessons for over 10 years way back when.  It is deeply ingrained in me – to the point of almost being impossible to resist – to follow instructions if a dance/exercise teacher gives them to me.  I must do it, I must do it properly, and I must do it well.  That crazy Billy Blanks, he gets me every time.

And, incidentally, what am – 80 years old?  It’s 9:04pm and the kids are still shouting in the pool next door and I want them to shut the fuck up!  Or bring me a pizza.  Yeah, that’s what I want… them to bring me a nice, cheesy pizza…

~ by other on July 14, 2008.