Sugar Unrush

If I shuttle between states of being spaced out and being plain snappish, 10 times my usual spaced-outness and snappishness, I am NOT even going to excuse myself. Days without rice, pasta, bread, sweets...not even fucking fruits, or even fucking fruit juice! It's almost inhuman. My pee smells like I eat fish all the time BECAUSE I EAT FISH ALL THE TIME. I feel like throwing a tantrum every time I pass by Krispy Kreme. I feel like performing seppuku when I pass by Sbarro. Some part of me that has more sense asks this - WHAT'S THE SENSE OF THIS GUSTATORY FLAGELLATION?

South Beach Diet. Dr. Agatston, the guy whose black and white picture is on the sleeve of the book "The South Beach Diet," (I'm sure they had a hard time thinking of a title) must be unaware that there is an archipelago of 7,000 odd islands, lying in the Pacific, with a population whose diet is 98.7 percent carbohydrates. He must have not foreseen that a copy of his book would somehow find its way to Philippine shores, in some BOOK SALE shelf, cheek-to-cheek with "What To Expect When You're Expecting," being sold for $6. He must have not envisioned that some woman, with a cup of Dairy Queen Strawberry and Banana ice cream on one had, will be reaching for the book with the other hand, and, defying all intuitive sense and logic, will end up buying it.

My typical breakfast would be water. Now, it's eggs, of which I'm running out of ways to cook. My typical midmorning snack would be:

a.) a Krispy Kreme

b.) a Danish from some coffee place (which boasts of serving "ethically traded coffee." This made a friend who lives in Tagaytay, amongst coffee farmers, laugh in disgust.)

c.) turon from our nearest Jollijeep (I only eat the wrapper. The banana appalls me.)

d.) two of the above

e.) all of the above.


Now, my midmorning snack would be:

a.) a slice of cheese.

b.) all of the above.


Lunch, I don't need to use a spoon. Nobody eats salads with spoons. A spoon would be equally inutile if one eats fish. Dinner,I am limited to eating animals with fins.

Brutal. I know. Why am I even doing this? Because I want to live longer? Because I want to look good naked? Because I want to fit better into some pair of pants I bought 3 years ago? Because I want to have the license to make fun of all the morbidly obese people in the office? (wait, I already to this all the time in my head.)

I am doing this because I want to prove myself wrong. I want to convince myself that I am capable of discipline (not the type that involves whips and is categorized as some deviant sexual behavior, no, not THAT kind of discipline). That contrary to what I have deemed myself to be, I am capable of keeping committments. I want to keep this commitment. A commitment to myself. Maybe, eventually, I'd be able to commit to other people.

It won't be easy. Faithfulness to Dr. Agatston. But I will do this. I can do this.

(No, I don't think dreaming of New York Cheescake is infidelity.)


***

I better have better sex after this.