I have a horrible problem. I have tried for years to stop it but as soon as I have a cardboard covered victim within range, I loose control. Going off of gluten has been a huge help in this. However, the damned Chex people had to go and make tasties out of rice.
Assholes.
So, I keep killing.
I have been doing weight watchers online for several weeks. I am very focused and I write everything down. I really, really want to lose the weight. I think it is holding me back from regaining more of my health. My sickoid body just cannot carry around all these extra pounds. Weight is one of the ONLY areas I have any control at all over what is happening to me, so I am damned sure going to try to lose some.
But then, there is the cereal killer.
She used to strike without warning, day and night. But, I have met her head on during the day and tamed her. She can come in the house if she plays nice and gets counted with the other weight watcher points.
But wait! Who is She? Is She the cereal or Me?
Who is the Killer? I think we know don’t we? It’s me. At night, restless, as always, the killer in me awakes and sings the song of her people, “refrigerator,pantry, kitchen…go you must!”
This voice, the killer.. often sounds like my beloved and mourned father. For it was from him that I learned to heed the call of the night time kitchen.
Sometimes I feel as though a string was pulling on my chest somehow and as it grows taut, I know the only cure is to head downstairs and into the kitchen.
All fanciful stuff, eh? Not really. I could go on for hours about my psychological relationship to food. But, I won’t!
Right now, the only thing I am consistently eating at night that has the power to undo all my great strides in the day time, is chex cereal with lactose free, skim milk. It is to these depths that I have stumbled.
All I can do is remove the offending box of crunchy sweetness. Hopefully my urge to kill will then lessen with time.
I know the cure. NO MORE CHEX.
No more venturing over the gluten line (which is bad, bad juju for me) and eating my daughter’s raisin bran.
NO CEREAL KILLER.
I can kill fruit or two point yogurts or celery. Or, I could just drink a big glass of water and tell my internal voices shut up. After all, those voices are not my daddy, not really.
He would never sabotage me like that. He hated doing it himself.
Each and every night when I go to bed, I pray for two things: “Eternal, let me sleep and if you don’t mind…. keep me out of the kitchen!”
And there is nothing, nothing more irritating that having my spouse remind me of research that reports that night time eating is a huge cause for weight gain. Really? I have NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT!
Bless his heart. He eats like a pig, Then he goes and runs for miles with his ears flapping in the wind. I want his body. You know, I want it, literally.
If we really do get recycled, as the Buddhists believe, I am coming back as a tall, athletic person that can run fast and eat lots and has an iron clad immune system.
But for now, in this life, I have mountains to climb: Mountains of cereal.
I must not tunnel through them like some sort of gopher, jaw unhinged, chewing away. I need to climb up and over. Maybe when I am beyond and have a better view, the urge to kill will subside.
Maybe…