Food Fight
I’ve never been in an actual food fight, I’d like to now, I think; just get all that pent up stress out in the open. But then, I think a real fight would be more fulfilling. These are days when pain makes you feel alive. I need that at this moment, I feel like I’m living in a world of dreams and my own screwed up hopes. I feel like I’m floating in the air and that I’ve never really planted my feet on the ground, which is why I keep on spending despite the reality that I am jobless and that I’m burning through my savings faster than the speed of light. So this is me and I need to fucking grow up.
Back to food, I have this love-hate relationship with it. I’ve been on a diet since I was eleven and I think I’ve tried almost all the diets out there. Now, I’m going to go on a yogurt diet this week because I’ve been feeling bloated lately. Good timing too since I’m broke and yogurt is probably the only thing I could afford right now. But the question is, will I be too arsed to even go and get myself some yogurt? Hmmm.
I’ve been telling myself that I love desserts and I do, I mean I really love desserts. But I think that the more I keep proclaiming it, the more I have reason to go out and get myself dessert. It’s like a perpetual excuse to stuff myself with sweets. Not only that, my emotional eating habits are not helping me at all. Whenever I feel sad I just need to get myself some dessert and I’d feel happy for a while. Once it sinks in that I’ve been eating because of this emotional state, then I get depressed because I know calories (the extra ones I don’t burn anyway) would turn into fats. And no one in their right minds would like fats. It’s extra insulation that I don’t need at the moment, especially since my fan is broken and it’s friggin’ warm in my room.
I’m probably a new kind of eating disorder.
Goal for this week: To stop thinking about food. But then I saw this article in the NY Times and the mention of “pan-seared rib-eye steak with a porcini rub, garlicky broccoli rabe and mashed potatoes made with a touch of butter and soy milk…thin-crust pizza topped with mozzarella, parmesan, an egg and translucent slices of guanciale” is not helping at all. But maybe joining a marathon would?
