This post is dedicated to Matthew Mittelberg for reminding my head that my stomach was fine.
Vending machines are the worst (<-- Hyperbole, obviously. Genocide, nuclear war, cancer and most forms of homework can easily be considered much more awful than vending machines).
They sit there, fat and happy, filled with all the good things you would rather have inside yourself. To cap it all off, their outers are made of glass, so you can see all those good things. You can gently touch the glass with the tip of your index finger and slowly exhale while your mouth hangs open awkwardly and mothers whisper to their children, "See, that's what happens when you don't eat your vegetables."
I haven't been eating my vegetables.
I threw portions to the wind this last week, stopped making near-midnight runs to VONS for fruits/veggies and even had a bowl of ice cream that I didn't weigh before eating. It was definitely more than one ounce. I will laugh if it was less than ...a lot of ounces.
If there is an explanation for why I have done so horribly on this particular diet in the last month, I don't have one. Excuses, I have plenty -- no explanations. Maybe it's the negative reactions from people who know about the diet, maybe it's the irregularity of my schedule and finances, maybe it's because I have less self control when faced with homemade Italian chili than I thought I did.
Vending machines.
For those who live off of loose change and out of the back of a car, the convenience afforded by vending machines is vaguely attractive. They're everywhere. They don't close at 7 p.m. They don't glare at you when you make your whole purchase in coins. They also don't sell vegetables.
So this week I'm at the National Institute for Homeschool Debate teaching values and cross examination theory. Food will be rare and in large portions when present. It will not be nutritious and it may take a lot more effort to track down my daily fruit servings.
They gave me a subway sandwich, but the atmosphere of these types of conferences naturally push me into starvation/survival mode. So even though I had just eaten a sandwich, the Skittles in the vending machine looked rather tempting.
I didn't even have to think up an excuse. The pattern of breaking the rules came so easily to me. I walked over to get some Skittles when my good ol' buddy called out. "Hey Mary, you don't need those. You just ate. You're fine."
Not judgily (new word!) and not jokingly. Serious, but not...serious. Like a friend would.
Maybe it's because I'm sick of giving up on myself, maybe it's because I didn't want to spend my last two dollars on candy, maybe because it was nice to have someone genuinely stick up for me and my crazy plan.
I just walked away.
Proverbs 18:24
"One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."
Monday, July 30, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Mea Culpa -- I ate a cheeseburger
Actually...It was a Big Mac. Only the bottom half, I might add! And really, just the bottom half of the bottom half because I didn't eat the top bun.
It shouldn't be a huge deal because this definitely is not the first time that I broke my self-imposed, incredibly stupid one-ounce rule(probably definitely won't be the last). And I only ate it because I had just finished a two mile run to the park where my church meets to play volleyball on Wednesdays. The carrots I packed were already eaten. AND I WAS HUNGRY.
But excuses are a dime a dozen (cheaper, actually, when you consider the effects of our government's recent printing fad). I ate a McDonald's product -- the symbol of obesity on a global scale. That's where desperate people go to eat when they can't find an In-N-Out OR a Jack in the Box. I really blew it this time. And it did not make the two mile run back any easier, either.
But why does this warrant a blog post? Why talk about yet another failure? Am I just writing this because I've run out of ways to procrastinate on my debate assignment that's due tomorrow morning? (Yes, but only in part).
Really, I've been thinking about this since Wednesday when I ate that garsh-awful imitation dead-cow. I let myself off the hook too often. I indulge a little too much. I say "just this once" a lot more than once! (This is not to say that I haven't eaten my pet elephant's weight in carrots and boiled string peas, because I have . . . I've just eaten a lot of other stuff, too).
Weekends are the hardest, of course. When everyone's having a good time, eating, talking, eating . . . Let's face it, all I ever notice is that they're eating. Stuff I can't have. That's when I'm put to the test (and when I most often give myself a hall pass). I'm not really pushing myself! Not really saying 'no!' So then what was the point of any of this?
Just watched an episode of Common Law (exactly like Psyche except not as funny). The white guy was on a cleanse where he only drinks that green stuff (you know what I'm talking about) and at the end he caves in and eats like chicken wings or something dumb. That's always how it ends. They always cave. They give in!
I don't want that to be me. I don't want there to be so many exceptions to my rules that the rules don't matter. That would be like using a cup with holes in it or trying to play musical notes on a paper with no lines. I'm stepping up my game.
Peddle to the metal, here. Go big or go home. Live free or die hard! This just got real.
Also, I don't actually own a pet elephant.
Genesis 25:34
"Then Jacob gave Esau some bread and some lentil stew. He ate and drank, and then got up and left. So Esau despised his birthright."
It shouldn't be a huge deal because this definitely is not the first time that I broke my self-imposed, incredibly stupid one-ounce rule
But excuses are a dime a dozen (cheaper, actually, when you consider the effects of our government's recent printing fad). I ate a McDonald's product -- the symbol of obesity on a global scale. That's where desperate people go to eat when they can't find an In-N-Out OR a Jack in the Box. I really blew it this time. And it did not make the two mile run back any easier, either.
But why does this warrant a blog post? Why talk about yet another failure? Am I just writing this because I've run out of ways to procrastinate on my debate assignment that's due tomorrow morning? (Yes, but only in part).
Really, I've been thinking about this since Wednesday when I ate that garsh-awful imitation dead-cow. I let myself off the hook too often. I indulge a little too much. I say "just this once" a lot more than once! (This is not to say that I haven't eaten my pet elephant's weight in carrots and boiled string peas, because I have . . . I've just eaten a lot of other stuff, too).
Weekends are the hardest, of course. When everyone's having a good time, eating, talking, eating . . . Let's face it, all I ever notice is that they're eating. Stuff I can't have. That's when I'm put to the test (and when I most often give myself a hall pass). I'm not really pushing myself! Not really saying 'no!' So then what was the point of any of this?
Just watched an episode of Common Law (exactly like Psyche except not as funny). The white guy was on a cleanse where he only drinks that green stuff (you know what I'm talking about) and at the end he caves in and eats like chicken wings or something dumb. That's always how it ends. They always cave. They give in!
I don't want that to be me. I don't want there to be so many exceptions to my rules that the rules don't matter. That would be like using a cup with holes in it or trying to play musical notes on a paper with no lines. I'm stepping up my game.
Peddle to the metal, here. Go big or go home. Live free or die hard! This just got real.
Also, I don't actually own a pet elephant.
Genesis 25:34
"Then Jacob gave Esau some bread and some lentil stew. He ate and drank, and then got up and left. So Esau despised his birthright."
Monday, July 2, 2012
Life comes first
Statistics say that nearly every woman in America will at some point in her life be on a diet of some kind. That means every woman has at some point looked at herself in the mirror and thought, "Crud." But more than that, it means every woman has at least tried to pass on the cupcakes, said no to second-helpings (which is hard if the first helpings were made by an Italian woman) or chosen cheerios instead of fruit loops.
These types of decisions are brutal. Made ten times worse when you find yourself at the Del Mar Fair, haven of delicious, lethally tempting foods (expensive, also, but that adjective is less on-point).
Now, I rarely go to the fair. Maybe once every three years or so. My family used to be involved in 4-H so we'd go a lot when I was a small child to show our pigs (yes, you read that right), but that was ages ago. Truth is, there's something magical about the fair that is just hard to describe (although, let's be honest, "chocolate covered bacon" is a good place to start). Gorgeous exhibits, almost-funny vendors, pig races and monster truck derby, livestock and cowboy hats, sawdust and lemonade and sunburned faces. And, of course, the Ferris Wheel, lit up like a firework, towering above a colored labyrinth of games that are impossible to win and rides that are impossible to afford.
But the reason people go to the Del Mar Fair is to eat. The BBQ ribs, the turkey legs, the funnel cakes and ice cream miracles, the chocolate covered bacon and deep fried zucchini are all part of what makes the fair the Fair.
I was wandering around an art exhibit when I noticed a painting of a young woman looking at herself in the mirror. Even the unsteady brush-strokes couldn't mar the look of familiarity. Everyone knows how it feels to see their reflection and scrutinize it - whether it's your face or your life's choices or your haircut or your attitude. We are our own worst critics (sometimes that's a good thing).
But the painting very clearly depicted a shriveled, skinny woman and the mirror reflected someone very large. Sad.
It became a little clearer to me why some of my friends are overly concerned with other people's eating habits (though I still stand by my opinion that society is just too judgmental in every direction). More often than we realize, our personal goals take a dangerously high priority in our lives. And I'm not just talking about wanting to be "skinny" (whatever that is). I know people who are die-hard health nuts who do everything by the book and are careful to exercise enough to balance out what they eat and eat what will help them exercise better, etc. Breaking routine: unthinkable. I know people who are study-nuts! Always putting books before buddies. I know a lot of people who don't put life first.
I won't be the one to assume or judge (you all already know how I feel about judging!) but I'll definitely be the first to say: I needed a little life in my diet.
So I ate red-velvet funnel cake and had ribs and frozen lemonade at the fair. I even had an ice-cream cone dipped in chocolate and a plate of bacon pasta. No, it was more than one ounce. Today I'm back to my fruit and my food scale.
Life doesn't come in one ounce portions. It's not fat-free or sugar-free or dietary. Generally, mixed in with all life's broccoli, there are chunks of chocolate-chip, deep-fried, probably-will-kill-your-pancreas goodness. Eat it up. No regrets.
These types of decisions are brutal. Made ten times worse when you find yourself at the Del Mar Fair, haven of delicious, lethally tempting foods (expensive, also, but that adjective is less on-point).
Now, I rarely go to the fair. Maybe once every three years or so. My family used to be involved in 4-H so we'd go a lot when I was a small child to show our pigs (yes, you read that right), but that was ages ago. Truth is, there's something magical about the fair that is just hard to describe (although, let's be honest, "chocolate covered bacon" is a good place to start). Gorgeous exhibits, almost-funny vendors, pig races and monster truck derby, livestock and cowboy hats, sawdust and lemonade and sunburned faces. And, of course, the Ferris Wheel, lit up like a firework, towering above a colored labyrinth of games that are impossible to win and rides that are impossible to afford.
But the reason people go to the Del Mar Fair is to eat. The BBQ ribs, the turkey legs, the funnel cakes and ice cream miracles, the chocolate covered bacon and deep fried zucchini are all part of what makes the fair the Fair.
I was wandering around an art exhibit when I noticed a painting of a young woman looking at herself in the mirror. Even the unsteady brush-strokes couldn't mar the look of familiarity. Everyone knows how it feels to see their reflection and scrutinize it - whether it's your face or your life's choices or your haircut or your attitude. We are our own worst critics (sometimes that's a good thing).
But the painting very clearly depicted a shriveled, skinny woman and the mirror reflected someone very large. Sad.
It became a little clearer to me why some of my friends are overly concerned with other people's eating habits (though I still stand by my opinion that society is just too judgmental in every direction). More often than we realize, our personal goals take a dangerously high priority in our lives. And I'm not just talking about wanting to be "skinny" (whatever that is). I know people who are die-hard health nuts who do everything by the book and are careful to exercise enough to balance out what they eat and eat what will help them exercise better, etc. Breaking routine: unthinkable. I know people who are study-nuts! Always putting books before buddies. I know a lot of people who don't put life first.
I won't be the one to assume or judge (you all already know how I feel about judging!) but I'll definitely be the first to say: I needed a little life in my diet.
So I ate red-velvet funnel cake and had ribs and frozen lemonade at the fair. I even had an ice-cream cone dipped in chocolate and a plate of bacon pasta. No, it was more than one ounce. Today I'm back to my fruit and my food scale.
Life doesn't come in one ounce portions. It's not fat-free or sugar-free or dietary. Generally, mixed in with all life's broccoli, there are chunks of chocolate-chip, deep-fried, probably-will-kill-your-pancreas goodness. Eat it up. No regrets.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
If you give a girl a cookie
(I feel the need to preface this entire post by letting every know that I've been craving a bean burrito for two weeks and my coworker just brought one in and sat down next to me to eat it. I moved.)
So if you give a girl a cookie ... If you give ME a cookie, there is only one reliable outcome. Anyone who's been in the newsroom past midnight during production week knows that if you give me a cookie it does not necessarily help me meet deadline any faster (tends to have the opposite effect, generally), and except for helping to evade a few stress-induced breakdowns, cookies don't really improve my frame of mind either. Sometimes my fingers loosen up and I work a little faster (with more typos) and sometimes I just start craving milk and can't do any more work until I've had some (the 7-11 run usually puts us another half hour behind). Sometimes I just sit in a chair and stare at the floor and whimper, "Picas. Whyyyyy?"
But always, always, if you give me a cookie, I will ask for a second one.
They say sugar is addicting and I totally agree. But I think, more than that, food is addicting (to some people). We don't live in a hunter/gatherer society where everyone subsists on grass and apple cores. We don't go for weeks without meat or bread. We don't live in India where clean drinking water is miles away. It's not a chore to eat -- something you do to stay alive, because you have to, no matter how good or bad the food tastes. You need it.
In America food is so plentiful, so affordable and of so much variety that it has almost become a way of life, rather than a means for life. Consumption? Right? We've all heard that term cynically thrown about when refering to Americans. Asking for a second cookie would seem like the obvious, most natural reaction (especially if it's a really good cookie). But as I discovered two summers ago when I went without sugar for 90 days, having access to good food can distort your appreciation of it. People begin "wolfing" their food instead of eating it -- whether or not they're even tasting it at all becomes almost an entirely different question.
(I'm reminded of the scene in Winnie the Pooh where Pooh gets stuck in Rabbit's front door - hilarious - and when Rabbit confiscates his honey he says, "But Rabbit! I don't want to eat it, I just want to taste it." We all know that's impossible. You can't taste without eating.)
Last night my family went to the beach to do hot dogs and s'mores. I said 'no' to the chips and the sodas and the bonfire-burnt sausages, but when they passed out the chocolate dribbled cookies... Well. I had one. (No judgement, folks. It was my favorite kind. I'm human, too.)
I spent about four minutes slowly picking that cookie apart, letting each flavor sit on my tongue before it finally disolved completely. And I thought to myself, Wow, that was a really good cookie. Consumerist instinct tells me there are plenty more cookies left so I should have another (a fact my mother confirms while gently shaking the package of confections.)
Normally, when you give a girl a cookie, she will ask for a second one. This time I didn't. Because I agree with Pooh - it is possible to taste and enjoy without eating in excess.
So if you give a girl a cookie ... If you give ME a cookie, there is only one reliable outcome. Anyone who's been in the newsroom past midnight during production week knows that if you give me a cookie it does not necessarily help me meet deadline any faster (tends to have the opposite effect, generally), and except for helping to evade a few stress-induced breakdowns, cookies don't really improve my frame of mind either. Sometimes my fingers loosen up and I work a little faster (with more typos) and sometimes I just start craving milk and can't do any more work until I've had some (the 7-11 run usually puts us another half hour behind). Sometimes I just sit in a chair and stare at the floor and whimper, "Picas. Whyyyyy?"
But always, always, if you give me a cookie, I will ask for a second one.
They say sugar is addicting and I totally agree. But I think, more than that, food is addicting (to some people). We don't live in a hunter/gatherer society where everyone subsists on grass and apple cores. We don't go for weeks without meat or bread. We don't live in India where clean drinking water is miles away. It's not a chore to eat -- something you do to stay alive, because you have to, no matter how good or bad the food tastes. You need it.
In America food is so plentiful, so affordable and of so much variety that it has almost become a way of life, rather than a means for life. Consumption? Right? We've all heard that term cynically thrown about when refering to Americans. Asking for a second cookie would seem like the obvious, most natural reaction (especially if it's a really good cookie). But as I discovered two summers ago when I went without sugar for 90 days, having access to good food can distort your appreciation of it. People begin "wolfing" their food instead of eating it -- whether or not they're even tasting it at all becomes almost an entirely different question.
(I'm reminded of the scene in Winnie the Pooh where Pooh gets stuck in Rabbit's front door - hilarious - and when Rabbit confiscates his honey he says, "But Rabbit! I don't want to eat it, I just want to taste it." We all know that's impossible. You can't taste without eating.)
Last night my family went to the beach to do hot dogs and s'mores. I said 'no' to the chips and the sodas and the bonfire-burnt sausages, but when they passed out the chocolate dribbled cookies... Well. I had one. (No judgement, folks. It was my favorite kind. I'm human, too.)
I spent about four minutes slowly picking that cookie apart, letting each flavor sit on my tongue before it finally disolved completely. And I thought to myself, Wow, that was a really good cookie. Consumerist instinct tells me there are plenty more cookies left so I should have another (a fact my mother confirms while gently shaking the package of confections.)
Normally, when you give a girl a cookie, she will ask for a second one. This time I didn't. Because I agree with Pooh - it is possible to taste and enjoy without eating in excess.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Never say 'Diet'
Explosions, weeping, skyscrapers crumbling to the ground. Imagine a herd of stampeding water buffalo (or watch The Lion King) coming straight for you - no understanding that they should stop, that you'll get hurt, that Simba's dad will die...
That's a little bit what I feel like every time I tell someone I'm on a diet. And it doesn't matter how I phrase it.
"It's a nutrition plan."
"I just want to get healthy."
"It's not about how I look, it's about how I feel." (<--definitely not totally true.)
"I ran out of money to buy more than one ounce of food a day. Bummer, right?"
People judge. I had NO IDEA people could be SO JUDGY. (I made up that word. Please forgive.) In a society where obesity is obviously a major problem, I don't understand why girls who do not appear to be overweight get picked on for trying lose weight. Like society is the know-it-all when it comes to each individual and the size they feel most comfortable with.
Just look at Kate Middleton. Gorgeous, fit, athletic. You know people were saying before her wedding that she was anorexic? Women in Hollywood get blasted for putting on a few pounds and for losing a few pounds. The magazines tie it to "mental breakdowns" or insecurity issues or whatever they have to, true or not. (I know this because it's all I see these days when I'm standing in line with my 4 lbs of fruits/vegetables at VONS around 10 p.m.).
So I'm going to say this once on this blog, and only once. (I promise). I think people need to lighten up. Seriously.
Staying in shape (or even just staying at a healthy weight) is difficult for anyone, and even harder for certain people. And while I understand that there are health concerns involved in any diet or exercise plan, I think too many people put on the "doctor" hat (I know they don't wear hats - bear with me) before even considering to put on the "friend," "cheerleader" or "support group" hat.
I don't want to point fingers or accuse good intention-ed people of ruining my day (after half a bag of carrot sticks, its not like it was shaping up to be a thriller anyway). But I do want to suggest that people, society, internet trolls or whoever happens to actually be reading this, take a look at their own actions. It isn't just what goes in our mouth that makes us healthy or sick, it's what comes out.
I know that many people need someone with the "doctor" hat to help them out. Many people use diets incorrectly and unhealthily. Many people do have insecurity issues. Instead of questing, accusing or dissenting the individual's decision, we should be looking to that person's actual needs and acting as servants, as Christ would have us act. How can we edify, uplift and support this person - maybe not in their decision about diets or "health plans" but at least in their life and their walk.
James 3: 7-8
"7 All kinds of animals, birds, reptiles and sea creatures are being tamed and have been tamed by mankind, 8 but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison."
That's a little bit what I feel like every time I tell someone I'm on a diet. And it doesn't matter how I phrase it.
"It's a nutrition plan."
"I just want to get healthy."
"It's not about how I look, it's about how I feel." (<--definitely not totally true.)
"I ran out of money to buy more than one ounce of food a day. Bummer, right?"
People judge. I had NO IDEA people could be SO JUDGY. (I made up that word. Please forgive.) In a society where obesity is obviously a major problem, I don't understand why girls who do not appear to be overweight get picked on for trying lose weight. Like society is the know-it-all when it comes to each individual and the size they feel most comfortable with.
Just look at Kate Middleton. Gorgeous, fit, athletic. You know people were saying before her wedding that she was anorexic? Women in Hollywood get blasted for putting on a few pounds and for losing a few pounds. The magazines tie it to "mental breakdowns" or insecurity issues or whatever they have to, true or not. (I know this because it's all I see these days when I'm standing in line with my 4 lbs of fruits/vegetables at VONS around 10 p.m.).
So I'm going to say this once on this blog, and only once. (I promise). I think people need to lighten up. Seriously.
Staying in shape (or even just staying at a healthy weight) is difficult for anyone, and even harder for certain people. And while I understand that there are health concerns involved in any diet or exercise plan, I think too many people put on the "doctor" hat (I know they don't wear hats - bear with me) before even considering to put on the "friend," "cheerleader" or "support group" hat.
I don't want to point fingers or accuse good intention-ed people of ruining my day (after half a bag of carrot sticks, its not like it was shaping up to be a thriller anyway). But I do want to suggest that people, society, internet trolls or whoever happens to actually be reading this, take a look at their own actions. It isn't just what goes in our mouth that makes us healthy or sick, it's what comes out.
I know that many people need someone with the "doctor" hat to help them out. Many people use diets incorrectly and unhealthily. Many people do have insecurity issues. Instead of questing, accusing or dissenting the individual's decision, we should be looking to that person's actual needs and acting as servants, as Christ would have us act. How can we edify, uplift and support this person - maybe not in their decision about diets or "health plans" but at least in their life and their walk.
James 3: 7-8
"7 All kinds of animals, birds, reptiles and sea creatures are being tamed and have been tamed by mankind, 8 but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison."
Thursday, June 21, 2012
She Bought Vegetables
I think it's important to begin by saying...One ounce is a very small amount of food. As in, my sister's hamster would scoff at the amount of morsel that is.
I bought a scale to weigh my food. I hate it. (Actually, I love it. It's stainless steel and lightened my pocket book by about $30 and it's really small and cute). I'm convinced it doesn't like me and secretly add's an 1/8 ounce to everything I weigh. Spiteful.
(Confession: I occasionally go over 1 ounce, like when I discovered that peanut butter adds an extra 0.4 ounces to my 0.9 ounce piece of bread. . . I'm not eating toast without peanut butter. Not happening. You may say, "Mary, you can't break your own rules!" to which I'll reply, "What rules? You mean the ones I arbitrarily created. Watch me arbitrarily break them! I'm still eating less than my sister's hamster!")
We've established: I don't eat much during "meal times" and that makes the workday seem like someone dropped a whale on top of me. And fruit doesn't fill the way you'd think it would. Disappointing.
So I bought vegetables.
Lots of them, really. I raided a VONS at like 9 o'clock last night and bought romaine lettuce, green bell peppers, cucumbers, carrots, grapes (not a vegetable, I know) and string peas.
I've mastered salad-making. (Secret: I use apples and dried cranberries.) I eat salads at work. I eat salads at home. I go for 5 miles, do some chin ups, drink lemon water to keep myself from vomiting up my one ounce meals and then ... I eat salad.
One ounce is not a lot of food and I know there are those of you who are still freaking out on my behalf. I want you to know that (A.) I freak out enough on my own so...Yeah. That department is covered (Please see any of my latest facebook profile pictures for substantive evidence). And (B.) I can eat fruits/vegetables whenever I want. And I do. Happily.
(The picture is actually my sister's hamster. His name is spitwad and he hisses at me in the mornings.)
Psalm 19:14
"May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, oh LORD, my rock and my redeemer."
(Confession: I occasionally go over 1 ounce, like when I discovered that peanut butter adds an extra 0.4 ounces to my 0.9 ounce piece of bread. . . I'm not eating toast without peanut butter. Not happening. You may say, "Mary, you can't break your own rules!" to which I'll reply, "What rules? You mean the ones I arbitrarily created. Watch me arbitrarily break them! I'm still eating less than my sister's hamster!")
We've established: I don't eat much during "meal times" and that makes the workday seem like someone dropped a whale on top of me. And fruit doesn't fill the way you'd think it would. Disappointing.
So I bought vegetables.
Lots of them, really. I raided a VONS at like 9 o'clock last night and bought romaine lettuce, green bell peppers, cucumbers, carrots, grapes (not a vegetable, I know) and string peas.
I've mastered salad-making. (Secret: I use apples and dried cranberries.) I eat salads at work. I eat salads at home. I go for 5 miles, do some chin ups, drink lemon water to keep myself from vomiting up my one ounce meals and then ... I eat salad.
One ounce is not a lot of food and I know there are those of you who are still freaking out on my behalf. I want you to know that (A.) I freak out enough on my own so...Yeah. That department is covered (Please see any of my latest facebook profile pictures for substantive evidence). And (B.) I can eat fruits/vegetables whenever I want. And I do. Happily.
(The picture is actually my sister's hamster. His name is spitwad and he hisses at me in the mornings.)
Psalm 19:14
"May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, oh LORD, my rock and my redeemer."
Monday, June 18, 2012
Don't start on a Monday
I should have known, really. I should have seen it coming.
Starting ANYTHING that is in any way challenging or difficult on a Monday is a bad idea. This particular Monday was a mammoth of a bad day and ... I'm a comfort eater.
Now, don't get me wrong, I held my guns.
One ounce breakfast. Done. Almost delicious, even. I was still smacking organic, natural peanut butter from my teeth when I stepped into work at 8 a.m. this morning.
Within two hours my entire day was falling apart at the seems, but I thought to myself, Hey, you're sticking to your diet and you haven't even broken into the fruit yet. You can do this!
The fruit I brought, which was mesmerizingly good, held me over until about 3 o'clock when my boss asked me to put the impossible (no, literally) on her desk by Tuesday morning, at which point I thought to myself, more fruit.
Alas! All gone.
So when my mom held out a plate of steaming, homemade lasagna and garlic cheese-bread, dripping in butter and said, "Honey, this is the last time our whole family will be together for a year. Are you sure you don't want to eat something?" I said . . .
Who starts on a Monday anyway???
Proverbs 27:1
"Do not boast about tomorrow,
for you do not know what a day may bring."
Starting ANYTHING that is in any way challenging or difficult on a Monday is a bad idea. This particular Monday was a mammoth of a bad day and ... I'm a comfort eater.
Now, don't get me wrong, I held my guns.
One ounce breakfast. Done. Almost delicious, even. I was still smacking organic, natural peanut butter from my teeth when I stepped into work at 8 a.m. this morning.
Within two hours my entire day was falling apart at the seems, but I thought to myself, Hey, you're sticking to your diet and you haven't even broken into the fruit yet. You can do this!
The fruit I brought, which was mesmerizingly good, held me over until about 3 o'clock when my boss asked me to put the impossible (no, literally) on her desk by Tuesday morning, at which point I thought to myself, more fruit.
Alas! All gone.
So when my mom held out a plate of steaming, homemade lasagna and garlic cheese-bread, dripping in butter and said, "Honey, this is the last time our whole family will be together for a year. Are you sure you don't want to eat something?" I said . . .
Who starts on a Monday anyway???
Proverbs 27:1
"Do not boast about tomorrow,
for you do not know what a day may bring."
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