icing off the cake
I’m 5 days late with this weight post, because I’ve had some feeling down time. I’m not telling you that, so you’ll feel sorry for me. Gazillions of people suffer from depression. Mine comes, hangs around a bit and then leaves for a while. Life goes on, blah, blah, blah.
This past week, I confess to having two binges. Man, Wednesday night’s binge was a doozy! It began with sweet cravings, so I ate a Nutrisystem banana nut muffin. I don’t know why the word “nut” is on the wrapper, because there was nothing resembling a nut in it. I did detect a banana flavor though. Then salty cravings started, so I ate a bag of Nutrisystem Cheetos-like snacks that probably have the same taste as “ghost poo”. Not that I would ever eat ghost poo. Ghost poo is what you call those styrofoam nuggets in packaging, in case you didn’t know. I then ate a banana and ended up devouring half a tub of whipped vanilla icing!
Earlier that binge day, if you had asked me, “Jill, is there anything in your ice box or pantry that doesn’t taste like styrofoam or cardboard or isn’t a vegetable or a fruit?” I would have bet you a million bucks that there was NOT! DEFINITELY NOT! No sir, there is absolutely nothing in my house that fits said criteria! Nothing of a delicious, satisfying nature at all!
Well... during the frenzy that night, I was going from ice box to pantry to ice box, searching for my next bite, and suddenly, I spotted a tub of icing. Whipped vanilla icing, my favorite. I had forgotten that it was on the door shelf with the ketchup and mustard and other jars of stuff that go with epic tasting stuff, like French fries and hot dogs and hamburgers, oh my! Sorry.
Anyway, I grabbed that sucker, and in no time, I had eaten half of the icing, all the while making decadent, erotic sounds. Sorry Mom. It must have been a horrific sight, like a school of piranha going after a yak that’s stuck in a shallow riverbed. Or a pride of lions feasting on the carcass of a slow moving gazelle. Or a vampire…. I’m sorry, that was too much, I know. But that is what I am… too much.
Becky, my personal trainer, forced me to work my upper body tonight, and tomorrow night she promised that she would force me to work my lower body. She gets really bossy sometimes with her “Can you give me 3 more?” and her continually saying “look up” and “stomach in”. Heck, if I could stomach in, I wouldn't need her!
I make her sound like a drill sergeant, but she’s not. She’s an angel here on earth, who makes me hurt myself so that I can get fit. She’s an inspiration, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. Plus, she laughs at everything I say. I love that in a personal trainer.
I think I’ll do my weight posting on Fridays now instead of Mondays. I love you guys, thank you for reading… and forever remember… You’re Not Alone.
Let me clarify the You’re Not Alone remark. I don’t mean there’s someone in your house that’s not supposed to be there or that there are space aliens, which there are. What I mean is no matter what your deal is, there’s someone somewhere who has the same deal and can identify with you. And if you’re feeling depressed, reach out for help, because You’re Not Alone… I’m here.