I am continually amazed at how my mood changes depending on the food I am eating or have just eaten.
Tonight, Indi fixed tacos. I love tacos. Granted, my version of ‘tacos’ is little more than a tortilla, beef, and cheese, but whatever. The point is I eat a lot of it. And now I feel miserable. The food was good, don’t get me wrong; Indi is a fantastic cook. She has helped me appreciate foods I wouldn’t come within a 10 yard radius otherwise. No, my problem is when I like a food, I eat too much of it.
I’m sitting on the couch, a heavy stone in my gut and a slight feeling of nausea playing at my throat. I only had two. But after ten months on the road, eating smaller portions of much healthier food…I can’t do this anymore. I recall the Before Times when after every meal I felt lethargic and mentally dull. Food comas were a way of life. I just spent the last half hour going through old pictures on friends’ MySpace pages and seeing what that had done to my body. And I was happy. I do not EVER want to be happy like that again.
As the time fast approaches when life tries to return to “normal” I must not let myself fall into this chasm of calories. Do I want to be ridiculous about it, entering my culinary choices into a mathematical equation @ lunchtime? No. But I do need to be more careful about what I eat, and the amounts I eat. The profound feeling of regret I hold now is enough to remind me that life is about more than a tasty meal.
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