Entering The Home Stretch ~ OR ~ I Must Be Delusional
This is from back in 2015. Four fucking years ago and all you have to do is replace the kale with celery juice and the holiday shit with Spring Breaky shit and you have my life today. Again. Did you get that it’s four (Twenty-eight in dog years) later? When the fuck will I get over myself and just decide to be happy? To live on Cinnabons, bacon, pie and diet Dr. Pepper? When? (It’s rhetorical, don’t write me.)
I seem hangry, don’t I?
I’m not. I’m mentally hilarious.
xox
It’s Tuesday morning.
The start of day three of my sort-of-self-imposed green drink celery juice fast.
My stomach is growling so loud it woke up the dog.
It sounds like the insistent, angry growl of a lion eyeballing a Gladiator like a pork chop.
I would kill for a pork chop right now. A thick juicy slice of pig-on-a-plate.
Or bacon.
OMG. Don’t get me started on bacon. If I smelled the savory aroma of bacon cooking right now I would drown in my own saliva—I just know it.
Instead of a mass of bloated puffiness, after two days I am now all gaunt and boney.
Seriously.
Okay, not really. But anyway…
“Feel that!” I urged my husband last night in bed, taking his hand and rubbing it down my right side.
He humored me with a couple of hand passes before rolling over.
“Those are my RIBS! I shouted for emphasis. “I can count them! Do you know how long it has been since I could count my ribs? You’d better take a good look at your wife because she is literally wasting away!”
I heard him snicker from his side of the bed—now to be referred to as ‘Outer Siberia’.
On Sunday night, that same guy stood in the kitchen and finished off two pieces of cheese pizza and half bottle of wine while I stood feeding kale into a blender.
“Everybody knows that calories don’t count if you’re standing,” he responded to the slings and arrows of my dirty looks. “But in solidarity I’ll eat power bars and protein shakes for the next three days.”
What a guy.
As of this morning, he’s lost seven pounds. SEVEN POUNDS! In TWO days!
I have never weighed myself, I go by how my clothes fit. Besides, for me this is about finding clarity, not weight loss.
Yeah, right.
But my gaunt and boney self wants to hurt him—just a little.
I can’t lie. I’m too hungry to lie. It takes too much energy to lie.
My dreams have changed. They have been colorful and epic in their scale and scope.
I dreamt of swimming and running and laughing and dums.
And my sleep had changed too.
When my eyes opened this morning, BAM! I was awake. Wide awake.
No sluggish slugginess, no urge to meditate or ask questions.
Just BAM! Up and Adam. Protein shake, celery juice here I come!
It’s now 9 a.m. and I’m going out to run all my errands. Too Da Loo!
It is now after three and I ran every errand with the speed and efficiency of a woman in labor on a scavenger hunt.
Then I came home and chopped up some shit, made my mom’s sweet potato soufflé and baked a pie.
I also garlanded a wreath within an inch of its life and planted some white poinsettias while the pie was in the oven. I even found my smile—it was hiding in the kitchen junk drawer.
Who am I? I don’t even recognize me.
So clarity…
It is clear I have waaaaay more energy That is for sure.
And I’m not hungry anymore.
And I may be taking this whole thing a tad too far. I accidentally licked some baked sweet potato off the spoon and promptly spit it into the sink. Crazy, right?
It’s a Decathlon people, not a sprint, and I must not cheat—tomorrow is the home stretch.
Okay, enough chit-chat, it’s time for tea.
Lots of love from your gaunt and boney, seriously delusional, green drinking, whirling dervish, mentally hilarious friend—me.
Carry on,
xox
