26 Days and Counting

The effects of eating well are difficult to be measured without returning to normal eating habits. The body, in what practitioners refer to as "true healing," goes into kickback mode, where it appears to be getting worse, instead of better. I am told to be patient, much to my profound irritation. That I am delicate and it is best not to move more quickly. And so goes the rest of my life, too. Be patient. Hah.

And nearly blowing it all after today's harrowing "Creative Process" session where T-Pratt told me, "it looked like you were having the time of your life, drawing that part of the picture."

"I was angry," I told him.

"About what?"

I shrug. Afterwards, I roll up my picture and think about going for a drink. Instead, I decline all company, go home and have a salad and quinoa. Tomorrow, I will have a lovely carrot-ginger-garlic-spirulina shake for breakfast. But I long for re-tox. I pass bars and resturants.

"When I re-tox, I'm going there."
"I'm going to have a big, fat martini for my birthday."
"Jesus, I want that hamburger."

I'm surprised that no one has locked me up yet. I've become some kind of puritan, eating-disorder control freak. Someone has something that looks good; I request to smell it. JM, who remembers these things, whips out a dark chocolate KitKat. When I say, "dark chocolate? Oh that looks good," instead of thoughtlessly offering me a stick, he turns the candy towards me and says, "would you like to smell it?" I do, and it is wonderful.