Once again I’m trying to eat healthy. I have tried this before but it never lasts long. The only thing I’ve stuck with is trying to include raw ginger or garlic in a meal. And by stuck with I mean it happens at least once every two weeks. Recently I have come to the conclusion that food is my crack. Yes I am comparing myself to a crack addict.
I’ve been using food as a drug probably since I was a toddler. I’m not the only one of course, Oprah taught me that. If I was upset in any way I got a cookie, or whatever sweet comfort food was nearby. A large chunk of my childhood we were on welfare, so I got a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches from the fire log size block of government cheese. It was some damn good cheese. And not just one at a time, my mother felt to make up for when we didn’t have any food, it was best to feed me two sandwiches. I thought this was normal. If I was at a friends house and we were made one sandwich, I was confused. I wanted to know where the hell my other sandwich was.
As I’ve gotten older I have tried to reprogram myself. This is no easy task. I’ll do well for awhile, but then I wake up one morning craving a sugary moist donut. I give little resistance and head for the local bakery to get my fix.
At this point in my life I feel it’s now or never. Either I make healthier choices at the age of 33 or I will never be able to reverse the damage. The epic battle with food has begun.
Oh my God! I want a thick piece of french bread lathered in butter! Mmmmmm.
P.S. Dwarf apples are adorable, and they mindfuck me into eating them with their fun unnatural apple size.