My diet has improved markedly since my Diagnosis. But, my overall relationship with food is downright unhealthy. I expect more from food than from my husband.
This is what I was thinking about during Second Breakfast, which was not about nurishment, but more about heat. I'd eaten a banana and a yogurt earlier, and found the effect to be unsatisfactory. So, I made nice, hot oatmeal and toast. This infusion of carbohydrates was also warm enough to snuggle with,while perched upon my barstool.
It occured to me then, as I philisophically evaluated my eating habits, that perhaps those 10 extra pounds are a function of high expectations. I expect food to satisfy, energize, entertain, and comfort. It must make me feel warm, happy, and vibrant, while keeping me slim. Food should serve me as encourager, be asthetically pleasing, and thrill my soul.
I want food to love me back.
There is a whole section of my local library devoted to this very topic, so I know I am not alone in this. And that is some consolation.
In other riveting news: Tim got The Call. He starts work tomorrow morning, so this is our Last Day Together. He and I were trying to find a word that means "the end of a sabbatical" and the best we could come up with was "Reality."
Today we have parent-teacher-conferences, but very little else. Today is an end.
Tomorrow is a beginning. The alarm will go off at 5:30 am......
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