Monday, January 27, 2003


What is it with dieting that is so damn hard? I have these moments where I feel incredibly determined, and I'll think, I know how to do this, I've done this a thousand times. I even remember enjoying eating healthy food and exercising, noticing that I had more energy, that when I didn't eat so much sugar I didn't crave it as much, and that I felt more sexy and attractive when I knew I'd lost a few more pounds. If that felt so good, then how the hell could eating that danish/pile of potato chips/fries/second helping of whatever-the-fuck feel better than that?

Temporarily, yeah, that cherry center of the danish is the best thing in the world, a small consolation prize for the crappy day/moment/memory/paranoid vision of the future etc. etc. that I was stuffing down with the last bit of icing-covered baked goodness. But, and this is a big butt, it is such a cliche that it's almost embarrassing to type, but the shame that follows eating crap (I backed that word out and then put it back in, because it's significant - it's not crap, it tastes great, so why call it crap?), well anyway, the shame is not worth the moment of pleasure from the taste. It's not the stomach being filled, but the giant gaping maw of insecurity, the black hole of the psyche, begging for food. But a danish isn't going to do it. As a matter of fact, it's probably just scraping the sides as it goes down, making the hole bigger.

Great. So I know this intellectually. Big deal. None of this chat is getting me to the exercise class, or making me change my patterns. I'll start off the day thinking, okay, today I'm going to eat healthy. It's not that hard, I know what to do. But if I don't eat some kind of crap with my coffee that very morning, I'm bound to eat some kind of crap for lunch, immediately sabotaging my own plan. The compulsion to eat unhealthily is stronger than a seagull's compulsion to poop on your newly washed car. fries. Dammit.

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