f00d

No, not a "w00t" but f00d. As in HOT DAMN it's FOOD! Which is pretty much how my brain feels as I sit down to a meal. My brain and food have a long lasting, highly sexual relationship. My body and food, however, are not exactly friends.

I write this as I stuff a Subway 6" sandwich into my mouth, knowing that it is that "full mouth" feeling that I really need. I need it. This is how I know my relationship with food is as fucked as my relationship with my mother.

And that's pretty fucked up.

Mentally I know what is good food and what is bad food. Bad for me. I know that I can have a little of the bad for me food, but it shouldn't be my diet. My brain is playing games with itself. It does this, whether I want it to or not.

I do notice when I eat better, that I feel better. For a while I did the Diet-to-Go thing. It was great. It taught me about portions. It taught me about what to eat for breakfast. But I'm fussy and still essentially a child inside, and I don't want to eat another yogurt for breakfast, damnit. Diet-to-Go has a particular smell. All the meals, no matter what, have this identifiable smell. A co-worker was heating up a meal the other day and I asked what it was, it smelled so familiar. Yup, Diet-to-Go. It's probably a function of one kitchen making every meal. So, I can't bring myself to go back to it.

My D-t-G days were also largely vegetarian, and lacking in dairy. So I seek to emulate that change now, while still allowing myself the mentally-vital cheats just now and again. My Subway sandwich is the VeggieMax, the funky veggie patty. It's an awesome funky patty: every once in a while you get a water chestnut. Double meat, bitchez.