So this weekend, my co-worker, Tony, told me I needed to lay off the pancakes because my ass was gonna get wider.
Now, before you go getting all angry at Tony, know that he wasn't being a misogynist asshole. Tony was just trying to push my buttons, the way my brother used to before my brother became so miserable and bitter. Tony would never have made a funny about my butt if I hadn't already been doing the same. Tony is a-ok in my book; he only acts all growly and grumpy--he's really a teddy bear.
Back to the point of this post. While there was no malice in Tony's comment, there was truth. I'm not 23 and strung out on meth anymore; I'm not even a stagehand who doesn't stop moving the whole time she's at work anymore. This means that I can no longer get away with eating all the cookies and calling it lunch.
Y'all, this ain't gonna be easy for me. I've used cookies (and candy and cuppity cakes) in place of dope these last eight years. This means I'm having to give up another fix. The good news is that there is a solution for this. The 12 steps have been geared toward the disease of addiction rather than a specific substance, so there is hope.
The other upside is that I am far less worried about size than I am about general health and wellness. I have been experiencing serious lack of energy, and part of that can be attributed to sugar spikes and the ensuing crash. I know that I feel better when I eat more like my Sunshine, I just keep giving in to that craving for all the chocolate.
It's just that some days suck, and chocolate makes them suck less. Maybe I just need a meeting, and the new perspective that a meeting always brings.