CORRECTION

Yeah I know I said no deaths yet, I lied.  It's half an hour post lunch and I'm feeling the need to draw some blood. I made popcorn with brewer's yeast for this kind of problem, problem being it's the powder kind, and every bite I take makes me cough because the powder is so fine I'm inhaling it.  It's a bit better than yesterday, but I'm concerned that I may not get through my afternoon without my irritability leaking.

Day 2. No deaths yet.

In my ongoing quest to not die at 50, I find myself on my second day of equating food to points (surreal) and trying to think of points as golf swings. To be fair, it's definitely helping me think more about the various fuels I ingest. To be completely frakking unfair, I'm already getting tired of mainlining applesauce when I'm hungry and have already swung par. I keep eying the Aciphex bottle I keep on my desk (acid reflux/ulcer med) and thinking, "Yeah, I don't need you anymore, bitch. Howya like me now." It helps sometimes. I note with interest that anger is the primary outlet of choice for my fud blueballs.  First world problems.

Rattling the cage.

Blogging.  Cripes.  I wish I could have restrained myself to be content with 140 characters of expression, but sometimes you just have to whine into the void.  I think I'm going to maintain this as a place to simply download my brain (the Singularity is coming soon anyhow, right?) whenever it needs defragging or rebooting.  Yes. Geek humor. A good place to jump from.

So. My cage, and how it's being rattled. I started, Arcadion help me, Weight Watchers today. After only two meals I'm already down the rabbit hole as far as food goes, I mean, dude, did you know that food can be, like, an EMOTIONAL thing?  Shocking, I know.  What's weird is even with all the foreknowledge that came with growing up with a dad with a binge eating disorder that eventually killed him young and living with a slave with a similar disorder for 11 years, and watching her do all the Beck based CBT work she can get her hands on to deal with it, I was still unprepared.  I was unprepared for the utter panic that came with the thought that FUCK, I can't eat that right now.  She made a good point today, as I threw a minor temper tantrum after a very well balanced (fuckme) lunch, saying, "Railing against this isn't going to make it go away you know. But it's ok to recognize that this is totally fucking unfair." This was unexpected enough to stop my grumbling and make me think a damn minute. Unfair? "Yes, unfair. You see people who can eat anything and not have to think about it because by sheer luck their metabolisms are on crack. You were born with a thyroid disorder. You have to monitor everything you eat or else you could end up dying early just like your dad. That's not fair. But it is what it is, it's what your life is. Might as well not fight it."  Fucking zen fucking thoughtful reasonableness. Just like the shit I pelt at my clients day in and out. But as she said, doesn't make it any less true, howsoever much I may hate it.  So I nibbled  a very carefully portioned number of pretzel sticks, drank my big-ass glass of water, and ate as many apple slices as I could stand to fill in the corners, (fruit is encouraged).  I then went back to work, reluctantly recognizing that my indigestion, which had become a mainstay of daily life, was nonexistent and my heart murmurs had abated entirely. (Fuck.)