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This Day in My History

TODAY's QUOTE

The trouble with born-again Christians is that they are an even bigger pain the second time around

~ Herb Caen


Yesterday's Entries

2001:  Cat Nap
2002:  Sentimental Journey
2003:  Seanachie


TODAY's READ

Arranged Marriage


BOOKS READ THIS YEAR

Venus Envy
Angels and Demons
Rubyfruit Jungle
Ultimate Weight Loss Solution
Sink Reflections


EXERCISE

(does coughing count?  again?)


On TV

Friends
Will & Grace
Scrubs


FOOD

Breakfast:  Warm oatmeal
Lunch:  yogurt and jello
Dinner: 
chicken salad


Getting to know me....

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(I'd better hurry up and get everything
I want to do in this life done!)

1,000 RUSSIAN GOLFERS

11 February 2004

I went to bed last night feeling pretty good. It had been a good idea to take the day off (at times it felt like malingering). I was decidedly better than I had been in the morning, so I can only assume that sitting at home and doing pretty much nothing was just what the doctor ordered.

tigerwoods copy.jpg (20917 bytes)I went off to bed figuring I would wake up renewed and ready to attack the new day.

Sometime in the middle of the night 1,000 Russian golfers in cleated shoes climbed into my mouth, slid down my tongue and started marching around on my throat.

(Why Russian? I dunno–except it was a running joke during college, when a friend of ours would say that he had "an army of barefoot Russians" marching across his tongue before he brushed his teeth in the morning.)

I can’t remember when I’ve had a throat this raw. I almost feel like I should break out the crackers because my throat must surely have turned to pate by now.

My friend Ellen dropped off some Myer lemons from her tree yesterday afternoon, so I squeezed them, heated up some honey which had crystalized and made myself a big glass of honey and lemon, which I’ve heard is good for conditions like this.

Ever pour something acid on a paper cut?

I got the mixture down, but it was not pleasant.

When it was gone, I decided to coat my throat with nice warm, gloppy oatmeal. That helped. By 9 I was feeling somewhat human and able to drag my carcass to work.  (I got there, they found out how I felt and told me to go home.  Thud.  Nobody expected me to work sick.  Nobody called me 10 times while I was home.  Nobody whined that I needed to come back to work.  "Call tomorrow if you're still feeling bad," they said.  Be still my heart!!)

But first, it being Tuesday, came the weigh-in. First week on the new Flying Alone program. Surprise, surprise–I gained 2 lbs.

Well, I would have gained 2 lbs even if I had a meeting to go to. We went to a party on Saturday night and my "party mode" took over. I don’t know why I’m so totally, totally out of control at a party. I don’t know if it’s feeling uncomfortable being with a large group of people, or a sense of "deprivation" that everybody else can eat all that stuff but I shouldn’t, or what. But I go completely berserk at a party.

I’m back in the home of my youth, with the cookie jar sitting on the kitchen counter that I’m not supposed to eat out of because I’m on a diet. I’m the defiant little kid that creeps in, learns how to take the lid off the jar and take a handful of cookies just because I’m not supposed to.

It didn’t help that our hostess made some incredible hors d’oeuvres.

But everyone else was taking one or two and chatting. I was taking one or two handfuls and looking around hoping nobody saw me.

I had eaten enough for a meal or two by the time dinner was served. I was able to have one piece of chicken, a medium size of incredible mashed potatoes (which I desperately wanted more of, but didn’t have) and a huge salad. Then for dessert there were cookies. Incredible cookies.

We sat at a big table with cookies right in front of us. The guy across the table from me, a doctor with his own weight problems, would take a cookie and then push it over to me. Every time I looked around, someone was pushing the plate of cookies at me. In truth they were pushing the plate to everyone, and the normal people were passing up their second, third and fourth helpings. I was helping myself each time, and sneaking an extra one when nobody was looking.

I left the party hating myself for going so terribly out of control.

My self-imposed task for this week is to read Dr. Phil’s book. All the diets in the world aren’t going to work at all unless I finally get to the root of my eating behavior. Weight Watchers isn’t going to help because all that is doing is giving me the accountability of the scale and, when I’m in the middle of binge-mode like this, making me feel guilty for being out of control -- which then, "feeds" on itself (pun intended) because the guilt makes me feel bad about myself and what do I do when I feel bad about myself? Right.

I’m thinking this morning that the throat is so raw that perhaps hiring 1,000 Russian golfers to clomp about in my mouth every day might be a good binge deterrent.

PHOTO OF THE DAY

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Strawberry anybody?
It's really weird when you have to carve your strawberry!!!!
(but they were very tasty!)

For more photos, please visit My Fotolog and My FoodLog


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Weight Lost to date:  42.8 lbs

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Created 2/4/04