Friday, February 4, 2011

Foiled? Not Quite.

So, we've established that I love to eat.  Right?  We're all on the same page now?  You in the back, do you have a question?  Yes, yes I love food.  Okay good we're all caught up.
I guess I didn't realize how much I really love food until I was suffering from this winter sickness junk that has been going around.  I sat down to a lovely meal my husband had prepared and took a bite.  My world went dark.  It was the same feeling you have right before you're about to pass out, you know when your sense of hearing starts to fade and everything in your line of vision slowly goes black?  It was exactly like that, except I couldn't taste anything.  I was like the Ray Charles of the dining room.  I was sad, literally.  With each bite I kept trying to taste what I was eating but couldn't.  Throughout the evening I kept eating and eating, hoping that something would taste okay, but nothing did.  I couldn't smell anything either (which has it's perks, when you're the mom of a little guy).

That night I lay in bed worrying that I may never be able to taste anything again (before you go thinking I'm too crazy, just know that I have a real life gym buddy who lost her sense of smell and taste from a severe sinus infection).  I'm not kidding, the thought kept me awake, tossing and turning.  I was imagining the depression of not being able to delight in ice cream, of not smelling homemade meals, of not being able to enjoy dining out.  Have I mentioned I have have a tendency towards catastrophic thinking patterns?  I was picturing going through the motions of ordering a salad with no dressing instead of a burger, because what's the point anyway if I can't taste anything?  I lay there imagining how awful it would be to cook a dinner and not know if it were disgusting or delicious.  I went through losing my love for cooking and baking, and eventually my love for food all together.  I was, in my mind, eating plain bran and cauliflower, drinking plain dull water, and not ever ordering dessert again.  It was like serving a prison sentence.
Because it's my nature to always look at the bright side of things.  Seriously, sometimes I even annoy myself.  I moved on from picturing this depressing eternity of never tasting food again to realizing that (if this were to truly be my destiny) this may be just the thing I need to help me with portion control.  I began to be excited.  I was thinking that maybe I could listen to my body instead of my taste buds.  I was then imagining myself making wiser choices based on fuel, necessity, and nourishment, rather than cravings, addiction, and the love of chocolate.  I was invigorated!  I would be chained by my love of junk food and lack of portion control no more!
So, eventually I left crazy town (my mind) and went to sleep.  A few days later, I was feeling much better.  I could kind of taste the peanut butter on my toast, which was super exciting!  My husband called me on his way home from work that evening (per usual), and I announced to him that I had made Huntington Chicken.  "How does it smell?"  "Amazing!"  "That's the best news I've heard from you all week!"
So now I've made my grocery list, complete with ingredients for the most amazing, savory meals I could think of (plus some super unhealthy, yet delicious, snacks for the Superbowl).  I suppose I will have to think of another, much more enjoyable, way to work on portion control.  Foiled?  Not quite.

Be happy.  Love yourself.  Remember... you're In Good Company.

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