It’s been a weird few weeks. I hate working, really hate the commute, have no time. The ex New Guy’s dad, a long time smoker, 40 y in AA, 80-something old man, didn’t want the slow painful path to death he was destined for, so sat in his bathroom, closed the door, put a bucket on his head, gun in his mouth. I never met the guy, but NG was a mess for a few weeks. We’re not dating anymore, but are still friends, and this was difficult for him. Even more disturbing, I have a good friend whose dad did the same, and an ex-boss/friend whose mom and aunt did the same (one with pills) . Only Oregon, as far as I know, allows euthenasia for humans, we’re much more compassionate to our pets. Speaking of which, my ex-bf and bff had to put his cat down, and since his girlfriend was away, I had to be emotional support. I lived with them for a few years, and he was with me through the death of two of my past cats, so I felt obligated to return the favor, though it’s not my idea of a fun Saturday.
My clothes got tight. I saw it happening on the scale, and then all of a sudden, my pants and bras are tight. There are a lot of mistakes I’ve been making to get here, and I’ve been searching them out, changing them. I had to give up the Malaysian buffet, or more likely, got sick of it. I had to give up lattes from the machine for regular coffee, and am using Splenda instead of sugar. I’m going to skip the buffets, eat less deep fried, and the most important one, eating for stress, when I’m not hungry. This is the tough one, and I don’t think I’m going to ever not want to eat for stress (OK, what I really want is a ciggie, but I’m not going through that quitting shit again, so no), so I’m approaching this differently. I’m cooking on Sundays, bringing lunch, which this week is ww pasta with lots of roasted veggies and crushed tomatoes and hot pepper jack. And turkey/cheese/tomatoes/watercress on ww lavash. I don’t love this ww pasta/bread, but I notice that it does the job, yet I won’t overeat. If it’s white lavash, I’ll eat the edges, ww lavash, I tear the ends off, tear off as much as I can. Other than that, I don’t worry about fat content, my metabolism is up because I exercise. If I don’t eat something with enough kcals/fat, I won’t want to stop eating, so I make sure I have enough.
Which brings me to the mom. I told her that I regained a few pounds, and that I’m cooking for lunch. She tells me that she just brings yogurt. That nasty non-fat high sugar single-serving yogurt? I explain that if I tried to eat only that for lunch, I’d come home and eat the house. Actually that wouldn’t even work, work is Costco stocked, I’d also eat ham/cheese on an English muffin, or other not so healthy stuff. All of a sudden, I understand why she eats so much ice cream every night.
Anyway, hopefully things will be less stressful, now that I’m making the time to cook and making eating my own food a priority. Sometimes it’s harsh reality sandwich, like tonight. Another long day, fantasizing about what I’m going to eat (out) when doing my laundry. There are lots of great restaurants in that 2 blocks near the laundromat in the foodie ‘hood, so I was deciding between grass-fed burger (should probably do salad, not fries), or burrito, or sushi, or ???. I had decided on burger, with fries (pms), but when I got home at 8:30 pm, I wasn’t hungry. I debated a minute or two whether I was going to really deprive myself of a great dinner just because of something trivial like not being hungry, but in the end, I did laundry near my own ‘hood, where I’m too scared to even walk across the street to the store. Even in the daytime. These few blocks are sketchy, and getting worse. I came home, made a salad that I’ve been craving for days, and am currently eating fruit. I love melons and peaches and nectarines and tomatoes. Yummy! Not as good as a burger, but there are work luncheons tomorrow and Friday at fancy restaurants, and I can’t eat heavy all the time. Especially if I’m not hungry. I’m unwilling to move up sizes, must drop the weight. It’s not rocket science, just sometimes I don’t feel like being what I might have to call disciplined. Not strict, just reining it in a little.
Where the boyfriend lives is safer, sort of. I don’t even get panhandled in his ‘hood, I am not the right demographic, but that’s okay. Here’s a picture I took at the corner of Market/Castro at 6:30 AM or so. It’s hard to tell, but it’s a homeless person, with a beautiful, clean white cat, which is the only reason I noticed him. Most of the guys in this ‘hood have very well behaved dogs, but still. My cat wouldn’t stand for that for a second. If he was awake, I’d have given him $5, just for keeping that cat so pretty and brushed.