Purgatory

I was being punished for my behavior the day before.  I wasn’t rude outwardly, but inside I wanted to scratch out the eyes of the idiot cashier who apparently thought I was trying to pull a fast one on Wal-Mart with a couple of coupons.  And they weren’t even computer printed coupons--I had peeled them from the packages themselves.  I wasn’t having a good day and I could not act properly in my mind. 

It was 5:30 am on Friday morning.  I was looking forward to the long Labor Day weekend for weeks.  Three whole days off!  I slipped on my flip flops to take the laundry to the car and promptly opened up the front door across my left foot.  I fell to my knees and fought the urge to cry as I did, in fact, cry.  I hobbled my laundry basket to the car and back again.

In the light, I could see my middle toenail was purple and bleeding.  It was completely lifted from the toe itself except at the base where it grew out.  I was being punished, I’d decided.  From then on, each journey between machines at work, to and from the front counter seemed like miles.  My band-aided toe in my loosened sneaker throbbed and I just wanted to go home, even though I kept reminded myself of the many errands I had awaiting me after I clocked out. 

“What happened to you?” was the question I was asked first.  And once it was asked once, I knew I would hear it at least twelve more times from each of my coworkers, or at least the ones who spoke fluent English.  I was asked at the tobacco shop where the clerk I had gotten to know knew specifically which cigarettes Shawn preferred to smoke.  I was asked at all sorts of places and got strange pathetic smiles from total strangers as though I had a brace around my back leading up to my neck.

It was telltale sign of weakness and not a soul at work witnessed me cry.  At some point I was putting on a sock and winced, my eyes filled with water as I told Shawn I hated to be such a weenie about it.  “You’re not a weenie!” he exclaimed.  “They do this to torture people with bamboo shoots.  If I gave your toe a good thump, you’d tell me everything I needed to know.”

Once home and car unloaded, I contemplated going to Jack in the Box.  It was once a secret desire of mine.  It was once a favorite treat.  I had vicariously tucked away a coupon in my wallet, never intend ding to use it.  I got in the car and drove the two miles, got my 1500 calorie snack.  I felt like I had deserved it.  I had toughed out the day in sneakers, standing on my feet all day.  I hauled cartons of soda, limping out of the Family Dollar to the car, after all. 

As I ate it, I found that it wasn’t very good.  The fries tasted of old, dirty grease and I just kept eating it.  It was nasty and I kept eating.  Why did I keep eating?  I ate that way for the rest of the day.  I figured I had blown it so why bother to count?

But I did count.  And by the time I went to bed, I had consumed 3000 calories as written on my white board on the fridge.  I erased it so I wouldn’t see it the next day. 

I had prepared for the long weekend by stocking up on healthy snacks, stuff that was healthy but seemed naughty.  I thought I could do well although I a little panic stricken with all the free time in my hands.

By the time I went to bed on Friday, I felt too full.  I almost wished I could throw up so I’d feel some relief.  I was so sick and so full.  Why did I eat so much?

The next day I visited my Aunt Louise for the first time in six months, hung out with my parents as my mom cooked up chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy.  I’d eaten very little that morning in preparation for that meal.  “Go ahead--EAT!” my mother jabbed from across the table.  “I can’t drive on a full stomach and all sleepy, Mom,” I told her.  They sent me home with three steaks and the remainder of the potatoes and gravy.  Sigh.

I picked up BBQ sandwiches because God knows when I’d be back again and I know how much Shawn loves them.  That little grease stained paper bag filled my car with a wonderful aroma, mixing with the fried steak and gravy.

Once it was all in the fridge, panic over came me.  There was so much food in the fridge.  Chicken from a couple days before, a bag of half eaten Cheetos, steaks, gravy, BBQ….

I decided that I no longer cared.  This would be the ending weekend and after this I would get very serious about it all.  I even got a pint of ice cream this morning, along with a bottle of Magic Shell.  I’ve been eating as if I am trying to gain weight.  I’m not proud of it, but I am enjoying my favorite foods, watching my favorite programs on TV and simply enjoying this wonderful weekend.

After all, I've got three months to prepare for Thanksgiving.  Maybe by then, I can have my Mom's gravy and enjoy it without feeling guilty.

Browinie Goodness

I tried the Fiber One 90 calorie brownie today.  The individual wrapping appeared very large, but once opened, I quickly discovered the brownie inside was half the size of the package.  As if there's not enough wasted plastic in our landfills.  My first taste told me it was low calorie.  Jello is low calorie.  This was....bland.

It reminded me of when I was younger and my mother would bring home these odd cookies and snacks in a green package labeled as Snackwells.  Your first bite told you it was totally devoid of fat or sugar, the things that make cookies and cake so desirable.  I hated those Snackwells cookies.  And now I had a whole box of brownie wanna be's.

There was no chewy center or flaky, crunchy top.  There was merely an odd after taste of whatever it is they use to try to make the thing taste good.  I miss brownies.  I had become jealous of Patti when she told me she'd baked up a pan of the evil chocolate cakes, for everyone to enjoy over the weekend.  Patti stopped and froze, rolled her eyes.  "I ate the entire pan."  She rolled her eyes again.
"Over the weekend?" I asked.
"On Saturday."


My poor mother tried, to instill healthy eating habits without creating a complex.  She kept healthful snacks around, but gave us the choice.  Dad, on the other hand, ate whatever he damn well pleased with no fear of consequence so there was always plenty of junk food around.  I rarely blame my parents for how I am, but in this case, yes I will blame my father for my unhealthy love of Cheetos.

Mom was once borderline anorexic.  If she had not stopped what she was doing, she would have quickly spiraled into a frail waif instead of merely appearing thin.  She said Dad kept telling her to eat, over and over.  She got so sick of hearing him, she finally decided to eat a little.  She never got fat again and that was 30 years ago. 

My sister and I grew up on quick meals of frozen pizza, mac & cheese from a box, and canned biscuits with gravy.  My parents worked so I relied on my sister to cook something that didn't come in the form of a Hot Pocket.  My sister is working on the latter part of her thirties and still can't cook, God bless her.  My parents did the best they could and when both work, one can faithfully rely on packaged foods to help keep everyone fed. 

My mother did cook on the weekends, large farm-style dinners with mashed potatoes, battered & fried meats and gravy.  It's not like she never cooked and she felt we deserved a reward type meal for having eaten out of packages for the week.  All too often, I rewarded myself a little too much.

And now I am paying for it.

Blowing It

7-11 is right next door to my place of work.  This is not usually a problem for me because I am so frugal (read: cheap)  The manager lets us get free fountain drinks and in return we wash their rugs for free and my co-workers each spend about $2 per day in there.  The lottery addicts spend much more per day.

Patti, weighing in at 186, sat munching on an apple.  "What's with the donuts?" I asked, after eyeballing a small box on the break table.  "They came from 7-11.  They just gave them to us," she replied. 

In response to this news, I shouted, "CRAP!"
"I know," Patti replied.  "I was tempted too."

I sat down and ate one.  I've been doing good all week; I deserved it, didn't I?  Then I had another.  520 calories, more fat & sugar than I care to have in a single day and I had officially blown it.  The plan was to live on healthy food and eat light all week and have a small reward on Saturday.  I blew it.  I was so disappointed in myself.  How could I have done this?  I knew how angry I would be if I'd allowed myself to do this so why did I do it?

As far as donuts go, these were not that good.  And it was only 10:00.  That meant that I would have to seriously control myself for the next eleven hours.  It's not so bad in that sense if I blow it in the evening.  I go to bed at nine so there's little time to fret about blowing it even more.  I sit here, hungry but I will not allow myself to eat.  I brushed my teeth so that if I craved something, I would instinctively gravitate away from that something because mixing with the taste of mint would be horrible.

I had a small sandwich a couple hours before the donuts so at 10:00 I'd already met half my day's quota for calories.  Could I make it? I wondered.  I rarely do anyway.  Even when eating healthy good-for-you foods, I usually get up to 1700.  That is unacceptable. 

I should go out right now & go buy a giant bag of sugar free mints.  I hate the taste of mint and it might be the key to controlling myself.  Maybe I'll just switch my nicotine gum to mint flavored....