Failingly Compassionate

You know those people who are just unfailingly compassionate? I’m talking about people like Mother Theresa and … well … Mother Theresa. I’m just like her except that I don’t have that “un” part.

I’ve been kicked in the teeth quite a few times – more times than many people I know, but fewer times than other people. Still, you’d think that having experienced some of the things that I have, I’d be a compassionate person – and I am….most of the time. At least I think it’s most of the time. Maybe I’m compassionate only some of the time. In any case, I’m not a nice person all of the time.

I try very hard to give people the benefit of the doubt or to try to see things from their perspective. I can’t always do it. When I fail, I try to keep my nasty little judgemental remarks inside my head; but, sometimes I fail at that, too.

justice-gavel-color-hiAnd I’m about to fail again right now.

If you haven’t heard yet, a 350-pound British woman is blaming the government for her obesity.  She lives in government housing (at no cost to herself) and receives welfare to support herself and her two young children. In spite of the fact that her benefits are worth an estimated $62,000 per year, gyms and healthful food options are just too expensive, she says.

Now, there are a million different ways to attack this woman’s argument and I’ve read most of them. But, the issue I have no compassion for here and elsewhere is the culture of victimhood.  I’ve been an unmarried mother. I’ve been obese (although not 350 pounds). And I’ve been poor. And, guess what? All of those things were in some way the result of my own choices. So, they were my fault (if that’s the word we want to use) and no one else’s. (Okay, so maybe not Hurricane Katrina, but most of the rest of the stuff was the result of choices I made.)

I am utterly sick to death of “it’s not my fault” or “I didn’t mean to.”

Actions have consequences. Period. They always have and they always will.

If I punch a policeman in the nose, I will be arrested. If I don’t meet the requirements of my  job, I will be fired. If I have unprotected sex, I will eventually get pregnant. And, if I fill my cabinet with Pop Tarts and the like, I will become (or stay) obese. If I stay obese, I will develop diseases like diabetes, arthritis, and heart disease. My body will hurt.

And until I accept responsibility for my current condition, I cannot change it.

As I told you yesterday, to deal with my fatigue and the food temptations that came along with it, I had to put on my Big Goddess Panties and suck it up. And we all have to do that if we are going to effect any kind of change in our own lives. (Men, you can pull up your Aquaman Underoos. If you choose Big Goddess Panties, I really don’t want to know about it. Mmmmk?)

I got into most of my fixes under my own power and I can bloody well get out of them that way, too. I’m not unfailingly compassionate and I’m not powerless either.

Heroes and Villains

Superman has Lex Luthor. Sherlock Holmes has Moriarty. Spiderman has the Green Goblin. And Kermit has Miss Piggy. Every superhero has an archenemy – some villain that is a constant thorn in his side. Where Batman has the Joker, the Penguin, Catwoman, Two Face and Mr. Freeze (I don’t know how Batman rates all those villains, really. It’s not like he’s Superman, for crying out loud.), Resolve has Fatigue and his sidekick Convenience.

Capitan-America-obeseAs we’ve discussed several times, making healthful food choices isn’t necessarily easy and it certainly isn’t convenient. For whatever reason, last week, I got less sleep than usual. I also did not take the time I needed to take to prepare foods like I normally do. As a result, drive-thrus all over town talked to me as I drove past. It wasn’t that I even craved a burger or fries or a banana milkshake; I was just hungry and didn’t want to fool with making anything. While I resisted the temptations – even the milkshake, a heroic feat if ever there was one, resistance grew more difficult as the week wore on and my level of fatigue increased.

Well, there’s only one way to deal with that. That’s right. I had to put on my Big Goddess Panties and suck it up.

I went grocery shopping on Sunday to stock up on good fruits and veggies again. Some of those veggies, including a butternut squash, are roasting in the oven right this very minute. (I had to buy the biggest butternut squash they had to repair some soup I made with the gourd last week. I put WAY too much garlic in that batch; so, I have to dilute it. Good thing that soup freezes well!) Yellow squash, zucchini (staples in my kitchen) and eggplant also found their way into the basket. Sadly, they had no large portobellos that I can eat like a steak. The small ones still make for a great stir-fry, though.

In addition to the vegetables, I soaked and cooked some beans. I prepared chickpeas, black beans and lentils. The chickpeas will become hummus, soup and this wonderful chickpea salad that I just love. The black beans will be seasoned to serve with rice. They will also become black bean burgers as soon as I find a recipe that I like. The lentils will be a lentil loaf. I’ve never made one before; but, this recipe sounds wonderful!

I can’t say that this week I’ll get any more sleep and/or rest than I did last week; but, I can say that I’m better prepared to deal with the snacky feelings and temptations that the fatigue brings.

Fatigue Man and Convenience Boy, you’re on notice! I’m still in my Big Goddess Panties. You’ll not find me at your evil Drive-Thru lair, regardless of how tired I am or how strong that pumpkin pie milkshake tractor beam is.

What It Really Takes to Earn a Gold Star

vicki lawrence mamaI’m getting old. I know it. I’m becoming Mama. I watch young adults and just shake my head asking what the world is coming to … just like I’m sure generations before me have done. Before you know it, I’ll be in a rocker on the porch yelling at kids to get off the lawn. I’m appalled at how many of them dress, at the music they listen to and at their general lack of work ethic. I’m not talking across the board here. There are a great many really terrific young adults making a difference in the world. However, I watch other young adults put in minimum effort and expect to be rewarded.

These kids have a First World Attitude Problem.

Many of them have never faced down homelessness, starvation, serious disease, war, or profound hardship. They went to school during a time when little was demanded of them; so, that’s what they gave – little. They grew up with No Child Left Behind; so, deadlines didn’t apply and the grading curve was generous. They got gold stars for mediocre work. I became aware of this situation in our education system during a parent / teacher conference when my son was in high school. As intelligent as he is, he was a less than motivated student who rarely completed his assignments on time. When one of his teachers complained about this to me, my response was simple: Fail him.

She was stunned and actually asked me to repeat myself. I did and assured her that if she failed him once, she’d likely never have to do so again. She finally admitted that she couldn’t. No Child Left Behind. So, there he was, doing less than he should have done, but still being rewarded by passing the class. This happened for too many students. That’s such an injustice not only to the students who actually work hard, but also to the students who are being passed along. For all those meaningless gold stars, they ended up with an unrealistic set of life expectations.

Gold Stars once meant something. They were instituted during World War I. Families with sons serving in the military were given flags to fly. On the flags was a blue star for every serving son. When a son was killed, his blue star was replaced by a gold one. The family earned a gold star by giving the life of their child. Most parents would agree that they’d rather earn it by giving their own lives rather than their child’s life. But that’s what a gold star really means – ultimate sacrifice.

But the concept filtered through society and ended up in the classroom where it meant that Little Johnny or Suzie didn’t talk in class or that their penmanship was neat or that they turned in a good paper. In today’s world, it can mean that they at least showed up where it once meant that they literally gave everything they had. I just don’t see that from most of the young people I know. They have grown up knowing that everyone gets a trophy whether they win or not. They know that they can be rewarded for a phoned-in performance. That’s so unfair to them! They don’t get to stretch and grow if no one requires more from them. Most of them will never realize their potential if they don’t have to. What a waste!

By coddling our children and “protecting their self-esteem,” we’ve given them a sense of self-worth that even they know is worthless. In seeking to protect them from the bumps and bruises of life, we’ve deprived them of the joy of having worked hard to earn something.

We’ve given them too many Fool’s Gold Stars.

 

 

DFTBA

There is the Generation of Baby Boomers, Generation X, Generation Y, and there are Millennials. I think the Millennials should be called Generation Text. These guys speak a language all their all. It’s full of acronyms – LOL, BRB, CUL8R, ROFLMAO, ICYMI and this one, DFTBA.

A young friend sent that to me last week. I got the message when I first woke up and my sleepy response was, “Dude, you know I’m old. I have no clue what that means.” He took forever to get back to me (like a whole two minutes); so, I Googled it. It means: Don’t Forget To Be Awesome. What a great way to start my day!

Some time ago, I shared with you my belief that most of us are unexceptional – and, although many of you disagreed with me, I still believe that this is true and that there is nothing wrong with that. Dictionary.com defines exceptional this way:

red dwarfadjective – 1. forming an exception or rare instance; unusual; extraordinary: The warm weather was exceptional for January. 

                    2. unusually excellent; superior: an exceptional violinist.  

That’s no surprise, right? You know what exceptional means and you may be a little annoyed with me for saying that you’re probably not exceptional. Well, neither am I and, again, I believe that’s just fine!

Now, lemme tell you why. 

There are some 200 billions stars in the Milky Way. Our galaxy is only one of an estimated 100 to 200 billion (some margin of error there, right?). Now, for all of these gajillion stars, there are only seven main types. Seven. So, no star is really rare, unusual or out of the ordinary. Mathematically, they can’t be. However, that doesn’t mean that they are not amazing, awe-inspiring bodies (kinda like Shemar Moore, but I digress). Likewise, while we are all pretty much like one another (with the exception of Mr. Moore, Stephen Hawking, Michael Jordan, Sissy Spacek and many others with singular beauty, intelligence and talent) we are still, as David says in Psalm 139:14, “fearfully and wonderfully made.”

Looking at our bodies and our minds, their structure and function from just a biological standpoint, we are truly fearfully and wonderfully made. There are so many chemicals, tiny components and infinite variables that make us who we are. And because there are only two major classifications for us – male and female – mathematically, we cannot all be extraordinary. But that does not mean that we are not amazing in our own ways. It doesn’t mean that we are not interesting or worthy.

The Red Dwarf is the longest-lived and most common type of star, although none are visible from Earth with the naked eye. It’s the least extraordinary. And, yet, it’s function and longevity are amazing. If you had the opportunity to view one and see how it worked, would you not take it? I’d probably knock you out of line for the telescope for the opportunity to view this oh-so-common star.

Like the stars, we are as common as daisies; but, that has no effect on how amazing, beautiful and awesome we are. So, as we head out for the day, let’s remember that and, as the Millennials say, 
DFTBA!

This Was SOOOO Not In The Brochure

Watching famous moms – June Cleaver, Carol Brady, Roseanne Barr (okay, maybe not her) – I expected motherhood to be a certain way. I expected it to be how it was on TV and in the movies. I expected to know the answers and be some kind of white, female Bill Cosby. Instead, my internal dialogue consisted mostly of three phrases:

  1. Don’t blow it. Don’t blow it. Don’tblowit!
  2. Oh, crap!
  3. This was SO not in the brochure.

Life just wasn’t what it looked like in all the pictures.

Neither is fast food. (Whew! That was a big leap there. Glad we all made it safely.)

advertising-vs-reality

The other day, I saw the video I’ve embedded below. It’s Irish people tasting American snacks and candy for the first time. These are snacks and candies that I’ve eaten … and enjoyed … for just ever. (Well, until three years ago, anyway.) Twinkies? Are you kidding me? I love those!

Yesterday, we talked about how my sense of taste has changed after eating clean foods close to their natural states. The taste of sugars, salts and fats comes to the forefront anytime I eat processed foods now regardless of how much I once loved them.

So, if these Frankenfoods are so gross, how did I ever grow to love them to begin with?

In addition to the addictive additives the food industry uses, I blame my eyes.

My eyesight is ridiculously poor and I’ve worn glasses forever; so, under the best of circumstances, they don’t see well. Plus, they’ve been known to see what they want to see rather than what is there.

I mean, seriously. Look at that advertised Whopper to the left.  Two words: Scrup. Shush. Right? Except that the burger never looks like that, does it? It looks like that sad, tired little thing to the right of the gorgeous super hero burger. The advertised product is all Captain America. The real product is more like Nick Nolte’s mugshot – a hot mess. By the time I take a bite, it’s too late. My eyes don’t really see the squished up, soggy mess; they see the advertised burger. Like a child before Christmas, they believe what they want to believe.

Of course, they don’t taste as bad as they look. The flavor enhancers used in making them don’t let that happen. Want flame broiled taste? Sure! You can buy in a bottle at the grocery store. Food chemists are brilliant. They can make artificial flavors that make our mouths think we’re eating a fabulous steak when we’re really eating fillers and beef that is boarder line good enough for human consumption. And it’s not just fast food.

Snack foods are just as deceptive. Take my formerly beloved Twinkies. They are beautiful, yellow spongecake filled with a creamy filling. So moist they glisten when you open the package, they are filled with that sweet creamy goodness. Hear the angels singing? Uh huh. They also have a shelf life of at least 45 days. The company says that they remain “fresh” for 45 days. Now you know that can’t be right. No unfrozen cake can remain fresh for that long- not one with natural ingredients, anyway. But those clever scientists have figured out a way to do it and, as a culture, we eat it up. Remember the hue and cry when Hostess ceased operations? Save our Twinkies! Beets just don’t get that kind of love.

So, there’s the key, I think: culture. Last year, we chatted about how many of our tastes are defined by our culture. We eat what everyone around us eats and, if we are told that it tastes good, we agree. But, if we stop to really think about it, most of it isn’t nearly as good as it looks in the brochure.

With that in mind, watch the video below and get the thoughts of people who haven’t been told that it tastes good.

 

Changing Tastes

knit-wedding-dress-yslThat sounds so sophisticated, doesn’t it? Until you consider that the man who said it also designed this cocoon wedding dress. Hmmm. Maybe he wasn’t quite the last word on style. Or maybe the dress was a joke. God, I hope that dress was a joke. Oy.

Anyway, you know what else fades? The smell of cigarettes and the taste of refined sugar.

As I’ve mentioned, I was a smoker for a long time and, even now, seven or eight years after my last cigarette, I still say that I’m a non-smoking smoker.  When I was a smoking smoker, I smoked up to two packs a day, I smelled like a giant ashtray and I had no clue, my sense of smell having gone into a self-induced coma in protest. Some time after I laid down the cancer sticks, my olfactory nerves reanimated. Seriously. They awoke and did a happy dance. (Do you have any idea how much that tickles?!)

I began to appreciate many of the smells around me again – coffee, freshly mown grass, flowers, rain. And I began to reject others – namely, the smell of smoke on other smokers. And, after a night out with friends, I’d have to wash my hair and even Q-tip out my ears to get rid of the smell before I could sleep. It was just an awful smell that I blithely lived with for about two decades. Incomprehensible now that my sense of smell has changed.

Similarly, my previous menu choices are largely incomprehensible to me now that my sense of taste has also changed.

Just as I was (and I guess continue to be) a nicotine addict, I am a sugar addict. I spent most of my life eating candy bars, hard candy, cakes, sweet rolls, packaged foods, etc. I drank diet sodas, but, big whoop. I was eating literally cups of refined sugar every week. And, as with anything, as my body reached a state of habituation with the sugar, I needed more of it to feel satisfied. It was an endless, automatic cycle. Until I chose to break it.

Breaking it was even more difficult than stopping smoking – I had the help of pneumonia for that. Less dramatic, but no less effective, were apples in breaking the sugar addiction cycle. I bought (and ate) apples by the bag, even though I didn’t particularly like them – they weren’t sweet enough. But after days, then weeks of eating fruit rather than refined sugar, my taste buds began to appreciate the natural sweetness. Eventually, I was able to step down from eating a bag of apples every day (a slight exaggeration – only slight) to just two pieces of fruit a day.  I no longer sweeten my hot tea. I don’t add sugar to my oatmeal with fruit. And, guess what! Things are sweet enough without the added sugar.

This same  change in sense of taste comes after a while of not eating fried or processed foods. After eating foods in more natural states for just a few weeks, try a Cheeto, a Pop Tart, or a Big Mac. I dare you. When I did it, I tasted oil, chemicals, salt, and sugar – not really the flavors I remembered.  My former favorites tasted like garbage which reminded me an episode of The Biggest Loser. Jillian ate some fast food that was a contestant’s favorite. The trainer actually began to gag when she put the food in her mouth and, at the time, I thought, “How ridiculous. Such an over-reaction.” I don’t think that way anymore. Now, I get it – even without the many years of eating as cleanly as she does.

Now, that’s not to say that a Twix isn’t a danger for me anymore. Not at all. If I eat one for whatever reason, I can feel that sugar addiction beast stirring. Processed foods are convenient and I am often tempted to overlook the bad flavor and go for the easy belly fill. I am tempted and I sometimes succumb; but, the enjoyment I once derived from those foods is gone and I want to keep it that way. My body feels good now. I like feeling healthier and more fit. I prefer the taste of health to the taste of a Snickers.

Truly, tastes do change.

While I cannot attest to its veracity, this infographic appeared in Forbes. It's interesting and provacative at the very least.
While I cannot attest to its veracity, this infographic appeared in Forbes. It’s interesting and provocative at the very least.

I’m Committed (Almost)

George Strait says to “Check Yes or No.” I usually need another option.

I worked in aviation for a very long time. During that time, I was asked an awful lot of questions about things over which I really had no control. So, I never gave definitive answers. My answers were always qualified and had wiggle room.

Q: Is the flight on time? A: It departed on time and is estimated to arrive at (whatever time).

See how I didn’t really answer? There were too many variables for me to say yes or no. Another aircraft might land gear up on the runway and the flight might have to divert to another airport (that actually happened once during a flight I was working). Then it would be late. The aircraft might lose an engine and have to finish the flight on just one. (That happened, too.) Then it would be late. See? Too many variables outside my control for me to give a straight, committed answer.

check-yes-or-noSo, when a coworker asked me a few weeks ago if I was a vegetarian, I waffled on that answer, too. “I’m not eating meat right now,” is what I said. What does that even mean?! Well, it means that I might not be a life-long vegetarian, but, in fact, I am one right now.  I haven’t eaten meat in several weeks now and have no plans at this point to resume eating it. I just feel too good to mess it up with that heavy, sluggish feeling I remember having after eating a meal with meat. When this started, it was more like I was accidentally omitting meat. Now, I’m actively avoiding it. That’s a factor that’s completely within my control. It’s not a variable.

It’s not like barbecued ribs are going to jump out from behind a tree and stuff themselves down my throat. “Well, I tried to be a vegetarian, but I was the victim of a drive-by ribbing.” (How silly. We know from Mrs. Doubtfire that there are only drive-by fruitings, not ribbings.) I do not have a nocturnal eating disorder (that’s a real thing). I don’t wake up in the middle of the night with a chicken leg in one hand and a beef brisket in the other. Food does not mysteriously disappear from my kitchen. I am aware of what and when I eat. I do the shopping. I can choose to eat meat or not. And I choose not.

Does that mean I’ll be a vegetarian for the rest of my life? No necessarily. But, then again, it doesn’t have to. I’m not joining the Bratva, the Cosa Nostra, or the Packer’s Fan Club, for crying out loud. There’s no blood vow. It’s a decision I make every time I shop, prepare a meal or order one. I’ve heard of people who are vegetarian or vegan at home, but who are omnivores when they eat out. There are vegetarians who occasionally eat fish. I’ve spoken with several people who were vegetarians for a period of time; but, who no longer are. They were omnivores until they weren’t. Then they were vegetarians until they weren’t. My sister says I’ve gone to the Dark Side. Perhaps. But I’ll only be here until I’m not.

My friend Katie says that I have a problem with commitment. She might be right; but, I’m not willing to say for sure. However, in a discussion last week with a different coworker, I did say that I was a vegetarian. And you know what? It’s a commitment I’m okay with.

 

 

 

How Could I Not Have Known?

My son recently celebrated his 21st birthday. All week long on Facebook, I posted photos of him growing up, although I refrained from posting any that might embarrass him. Oh! Like that adorable one when he….. well. He is going to choose my nursing home; so, I’ll just keep all that to myself.  In looking through photos and deciding what to post, I revisited our trip to Chicago in 2010. The one I posted at the top of the page is one of my favorites. My dad and my son go221509_10150159896253197_6369362_oofing with the dinosaur sculpture outside the Field Museum. My two best guys! I also ran across a few of me with my dad standing in front of Lake Michigan. Oh, my.

Yep, the one on the right there. That’s the one that really caught my attention. My waist’s circumference was greater than my shoulders’.  (The word “circumference” should be used in describing planetary bodies, not human ones. When that’s the best word to describe a waist, there’s a problem.) Those pants I was wearing there were actually a little bit too big; so, I thought they were flattering. Not so much. But you want to know something? I didn’t truly know that I was that big.

How is that even possible? Well, it’s the frog in the pot.

You know that analogy: you throw a frog into a pot of boiling water and he’ll jump out. But, if you put him in a pot of cool water, then set it to boil, he’ll stay in it until he’s cooked. I got cooked.

I wasn’t a thin woman who woke up obese one morning; it wasn’t some adipose tissue / Kafka thing. I was heavy as a child, not really super chubby, but dense. So, the word “heavy” was used a lot. I thought that meant fat. So, I thought I was fat even before I was. The first diet I remember being on was in second grade. All my life, I didn’t lose weight as much as misplace it for awhile. I surely found every pound again – with friends! Somewhere in all that yo-yoing, my mental picture of my physical self got stuck at about a size 14. I was a solid size 20 in this photo.  I had no idea how big I was.

And that is still a challenge.

I’m now a size 6 (or 8 or 10, depending on the garment and the maker) and I still don’t know what I size I am. But I’m not so worried about it anymore. As you know, when I started the whole juicing thing, it was to lose those last 10 pesky pounds. I can honestly tell you that it’s not about that anymore. It’s about getting wholesome food into my body. More than ever, it is about being healthy.

That much I do know.

 

There’s Junk Food and There’s Frankenfood

Garden-of-Eatin-Sweet-PotFriday, I shared with you that I was in the midst of PMS cravings and just could not figure out what would satisfy them. Well, that was then, honey! I found the food I was searching for – Garden of Eatin’ Sweet Potato Corn Tortilla Chips! Mmmmm. AND they let me stay in my current menu. Nirvana, right? Healthy junk food?

I didn’t say they were healthy. I said that they let me stay in my current menu. Not the same thing.

With my new vegetarian, nearly vegan menu, I get a lot of questions and end up in a great many conversations about it. In one conversation, a friend expressed surprised that an obese woman she’d just met was a life-long vegetarian. How can that be? How can a vegetarian be overweight at all, much less obese? I used to wonder the same thing.

I always had this image of a vegetarian as someone who ate mostly salads and steamed vegetables. Honestly, I didn’t really get the difference between a vegetarian and a vegan since I believed that they both lived on primarily twigs and grass, drank herbal tea, smoked weed and dropped acid. (Well, maybe not all of them.)

Au contraire! (That’s French for, “Oh, lemme tell you how you’re wrong.”)

To be a vegetarian, a person does not eat meat. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they don’t eat eggs or milk products. It doesn’t mean that they don’t eat sugar; it only means that they don’t eat meat. They can still eat cake, ice cream, candy bars, french fries…you get the picture.

Vegans are vegetarians who don’t eat meat or any other animal product like eggs or dairy. However, even vegans can eat a wide variety of things that aren’t necessarily healthy including Oreos, many cookies, most candy, lots of different chips, some bagels and even many frozen desserts. Neither vegetarianism nor veganism is necessarily good healthism. (It’s not a word. I know that, just work with me.)

These folks ain’t subsisting on grass and twigs.

So, back to my sweet potato corn tortilla chips. Like all junk food, they are calorie dense, nutrient sparse. A serving (about nine chips – puhleeze) contains 140 calories, 1 gram of sugar, 2 grams of protein and 2% of the RDA of both iron and vitamin A. 2%? That’s nothing. The reason I chose them rather than some other chip is their ingredient list which contains nothing that I can’t pronounce. Malic acid is the only ingredient I didn’t know anything about. Compare that to other chips with ingredients like monosodium glutamate and disodium inosinate. While neither chemical is necessarily harmful, I’d rather my snacks have more easily pronounced ingredients. I feel better believing that they are a more natural option than some other choices out there.

Or, maybe I’m just kidding myself because it says “organic, gluten-free and non-GMO” on the package. Could be.  In any case, my cravings are satisfied, the PMS Beast is once again at rest, and the neighborhood is safe.

Whew!

Estranged Bedfellows

cheetah and dogYou’ve heard about these guys, right? The cheetah and the dog at the San Diego Zoo that are best buds in spite of their instincts? That dog should have been a snack AGES ago; but, the cheetah loves the dog and the feeling seems to be mutual. Strange bedfellows, no doubt.

Yesterday afternoon, my mind drifted to the subject of strange bedfellows, drifted right on through that and ended up at estranged bedfellows – specifically, PMS cravings and my current menu. Verily I say unto you, never the two shall meet. Not even close.

You and I, we’ve been having these little visits for months now; so, we’re friends and I can tell you that I’m PMSing in a big way. The thing is, when I have food cravings this time of the month, I can normally pinpoint what it is that I want. This month, I can’t.

In addition to feeling cranky, I’m feeling lazy, as well, and I want something convenient. I’ve been running through the list of foods I haven’t eaten in over a month now and I’m coming up empty. I got nothing that sounds like it will do the trick. Last night, I ate one of the cupcakes I made for a coworker and that didn’t do it, either. (I must say, though, that the cupcake with its frosting of Cool Whip, neufchatel cheese and diced strawberries was a treat.)

So now what?

As I sit here writing this, I’m drinking peach herbal tea and enjoying some dried plums. I used to enjoy prunes, but some marketing guy decided that we’re all way too hip and vital to eat prunes. Hip and vital people eat only dried plums. Whatever. I’m enjoying them even knowing that they’re not scratching that PMS food itch either.

So that leaves me sticking with my new menu, although mostly by default. I have to admit that if I identified this craving as cheese puffs, I’d knock that craving right out, then spend the next 30 minutes cleaning the orange dust off my keyboard. As it is, I’ll behave.

At least for now, my behavior and my menu are united, even if my cravings and my menu are estranged.

Thoughts about everything and nothing in an effort to be a better person than I was yesterday.