It has become abundantly clear to me that my world, my life, and — not least of all — the size of my butt — is way too intertwined with food. I’ve been on NutriSystem for one week and I am so pathetically depressed it’s not even funny. It’s not the food, the food is fine — I want to eat all of it…right now. But I haven’t — I’ve behaved, I had an extra protein today but that was really an accident — and it was tofu — so it’s not like I goofed with a double-double.
I knew I was a stress-eater, I knew I was an emotional eater, and to some extent I knew I ate out of boredom — but I didn’t realize just how freakishly boring I am until this past week. I am going out of my freakin’ mind. I didn’t realize how isolated/lonely I was until my BFF suddenly became off-limits. Suddenly I get addiction — oh don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to put myself on par with someone spectacular like Tiger Woods or Courtney Love….but I think I “get” how addiction works a little better than I did last week at this time. NutriSystem has pretty much cut me off from my life, there’s no going out to dinner, no stopping for lunch while I’m out, no donuts (for me anyway), and tonight when I went out at 10pm “to go to the bookstore” — I actually went to the bookstore and bought…..wait for it….books.
And not even cookbooks. Books about vampires and the whiny little skanks that love them…..oh, and dog training.
I suppose it’s not entirely fair to just blame food, I also have an unhealthy relationship with the AppStore and Amazon.com too — hence my visit to an actual, physical, bookstore. But I’m going to have to find a used bookstore pretty soon. Replacing one addiction…or obsession?…..with another, is bound to get expensive. Maybe I should start walking to the library, I’m sure that would be craploads of fun with two toddlers.
I’m hungry. I want more cake.
But here’s the thing that really has me….what I’m feeling now, what I am experiencing as I try to break this dependency on food –is nothing….nothing….nothing….compared to what my daughter will have to live with her entire life and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. And here I am moping and whining about how bummed I am that I have to exercise a little self-control.
Oh irony, you bitch.
So I’m taking book suggestions, please no romance novels — I think I’d rather be addicted to heroin.