Program: I SUFFER.
O pizza, o Twinkies, o barbecue sauce: you will have to wait just a little while longer (THREE MONTHS THREE GODDAMN MONTHS) until we can reconvene.
I am on the program. There has not been blogging because, despite my abuse of the Caps Lock key above, the program has been fine. There has been much working out and eating of lean protein and vegetables and fruit. There was rejoicing in the land last week when I got cheese back. Lentils are next, I think.
But Diet Coke with Lime, wine, beer, and any kind of refined white anything - including my mother-in-law - these are all off the menu. That's been fine until now, Week 4, when PMS hit like a Mack truck toting a load of Cadbury bars.
I'm talking galloping PMS, people. The noticeable kind. The unpleasant kind. The kind where your nutritionist does not believe you when the scale doesn't move, even though you can show her the water-retention marks in your skin and explain that you can handily tuck two or three pounds of water away in your skin, that in fact if she were to pop a tap in your forearm, out would come fresh spring water.
So I am a little obsessed with the program these days, such that I am not doing anything but rocking back in a corner, trying not to eat sugar.
You'd think I would want to blog about that, or to blog about something, anyway. There are other things to blog about - this new bellydancing class I'm taking with my friend Homeskillet; the fact that I lost 6 pounds, apparently all in my face; the new stone patio C and I built out back over the weekend. I even went to Minnesota and met my parents' fantabulous neighbors, one of whom BLOGS and who is totally funny and dry and who I expect my mother to adopt any day now. She even has a tattoo, which will make my own that much easier to explain to Mom.
But all that will have to wait. For now, you people are going to suffer along with me. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
Although I have started writing fiction again.
That's a lie, actually. I am brainstorming fiction, which seems like the most useless of all endeacors when you are not actually doing anything with your storms of brain. But it's a step. I am marshalling my forces. And not eating sugar.
I am on the program. There has not been blogging because, despite my abuse of the Caps Lock key above, the program has been fine. There has been much working out and eating of lean protein and vegetables and fruit. There was rejoicing in the land last week when I got cheese back. Lentils are next, I think.
But Diet Coke with Lime, wine, beer, and any kind of refined white anything - including my mother-in-law - these are all off the menu. That's been fine until now, Week 4, when PMS hit like a Mack truck toting a load of Cadbury bars.
I'm talking galloping PMS, people. The noticeable kind. The unpleasant kind. The kind where your nutritionist does not believe you when the scale doesn't move, even though you can show her the water-retention marks in your skin and explain that you can handily tuck two or three pounds of water away in your skin, that in fact if she were to pop a tap in your forearm, out would come fresh spring water.
So I am a little obsessed with the program these days, such that I am not doing anything but rocking back in a corner, trying not to eat sugar.
You'd think I would want to blog about that, or to blog about something, anyway. There are other things to blog about - this new bellydancing class I'm taking with my friend Homeskillet; the fact that I lost 6 pounds, apparently all in my face; the new stone patio C and I built out back over the weekend. I even went to Minnesota and met my parents' fantabulous neighbors, one of whom BLOGS and who is totally funny and dry and who I expect my mother to adopt any day now. She even has a tattoo, which will make my own that much easier to explain to Mom.
But all that will have to wait. For now, you people are going to suffer along with me. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
Although I have started writing fiction again.
That's a lie, actually. I am brainstorming fiction, which seems like the most useless of all endeacors when you are not actually doing anything with your storms of brain. But it's a step. I am marshalling my forces. And not eating sugar.
posted by Brooke at 4:04 PM
6 Comments:
You are so good! Woot!! Even if you might just secretly want to eviscerate a moose.
Sis, thanks for your kind words. I want to go on your diet with you - but wonder - is Gin considered a veggie? I am already packed for our BWCA trip next summer!
Damn, when did you become my Healthy Eating guru? Did I miss a commitment ceremony somewhere???
So glad you are posting again, lady. Oh, The Program. The M-Effing Program, which was grueling and totally transformative and which I should get back on, methinks, having toppled far off the wagon and been run over by it in the process.
But mostly I wanted to say that this:
But Diet Coke with Lime, wine, beer, and any kind of refined white anything - including my mother-in-law - these are all off the menu.
...made me caw out loud like a raven. Nice work.
Writing fiction- WWOOOOT
looking forward to some good Brooke reading.
No time to wax poetic - just one tidbit that when it comes to PMS, vitamin B has saved my marriage. Take it every day!!!
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