Category: Stress eating
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Emo eating, addiction and wellness
I broke my foot in June and quickly gained 14 pounds — faster, you might say, than a heifer on a feed lot. That was five months ago. Since September I’ve carved off nine of those pounds — as slowly as sculpting marble with a butter knife. Aaargh, that’s all I can say. (Of course,…
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Weight Watchers watching
Sunday’s USA Today crossword features shades of blue. Appropriate, because I am feeling cobalt, indigo, azure, sky, baby, teal and several others since going back to Weight Watchers three weeks ago (my fourth trip to the scales is tomorrow). The first week I was just anxious — how was I going to figure out the nifty WW phone app?…
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Guilt and lamb
Amazing how one sentence can bring someone back from the dead and slap you up’side the haid. My mother’s been dead for 18 years, and yet when I found an old letter of hers this morning, boom! This letter’s at least 20 years old, maybe more. She’s talking about a much disliked sister-in-law’s back surgery…
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Avocado BLT Pizza
Lately, I’ve been a real Eeyore about my weight loss. Nothing’s changed for almost a month. Well, technically, I did get rid of the 4 pounds I slapped on as a non-exercising, two-glasses-of-wine-a-night-drinking tourist in Virginia. Then there was my birthday and Annie P’s first-ever shadow cake. Then… nothing. Nothing while I went back to work…
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Ten commandments
Things I need to accept: 1. All weight “lost” will be found as soon as I think I can eat like a normal-weight person. I dropped to 186 pounds before my high school reunion in August and, magically, I’m back up to 203 after yesterday’s first of two Thanksgiving dinners this week. Beef producers should…
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Addiction, the sequel (again)
“None of her actions was in the least inauthentic, but her degree of alienation from goals, actions, simple states of being — the acute, inescapable self-surveillance of the addict — resembles that rarefied ontological space of the depressive, the anxious, the ill, the poet.” (Joshua Cody’s [sic] — A Memoir, W.W. Norton & Co., 2011)…
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Blue nights, golden days and a 21st-century three-bean salad
Joan Didion has always been a bit diaphanous, a bit hide-and-seek for my tastes, probably never more so than in “Blue Nights” (Alfred A. Knopf, 2011), a gauzy remembrance of the 2005 death of her daughter, Quintana Roo. You have to Google Quintana Dunne Michael to find out how she died. Her grief-stricken mother offers…
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Neuroses, chocolate bunnies and tuna casserole
I will never be able to eat everything I want to eat. I will never be able to eat enough to make me “happy” (read: numb). I will never be able to eat enough to make me feel loved, appreciated, beautiful, fill in the blank (and this I mean literally — the hollow that is…
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Eliot Coleman, angel lush cake
Perhaps I should be embarrassed to even think about a recipe including instant pudding and synthetic whippee while reading This Life Is In Your Hands, Melissa Coleman’s loving and painful memoir of her parents’ early years on their Maine organic farm (Harper, 2011), but I’m not. Even though I just came across this quote from Scott…
youcanteaticecreamintheshower 