Sometimes I even pretend I know things

(7/5/12)

I’m trying to amend my diet. I’m no stranger to good food, even beyond quality decadence. I love food in  vein similar to my enjoyment of sex. I am admittedly familiar with a wider variety of the former, and it’s only good fortune that it’s a necessity to my survival. It’s a rare day that I am lost in the act of breathing or bathing or quenching my thirst to the same degree. It gives my love of food a bit of a grotesque and sinful feeling when I think about it like that. So be it.

I have been plagued by fatigue for weeks now. In the middle of May I charged myself with getting up at 5 every morning. By 6 I’m smiling pleasantly and balancing plates of french toast and sunny side eggs up my arms. You’d think I’d have adjusted by now. But hell, what do I know about bodies? It’s not even 5pm and I can feel the ache in my shoulders and the weight on my eyelids. I can’t figure out what to do. Sometimes I nap. I wake up feeling groggy and melancholic, having lost the evening and most of the daylight left to me after a long day of work. I’ve tried acupuncture. Maybe it helps. Consistency in my treatment became unlikely the second I gave myself a deadline by which I had to purchase a plane ticket. These things aren’t cheap. So what’s left? Food, I guess. And water. Lots of water.

One of my darling coworkers asked me today, “Marie, will you make a diet for me? But nothing gross. Like spinach.” Luckily for me, I don’t have the same aversions. So many people hate leafy greens. A good chunk of these people hate fresh produce in general. I overheard a customer at a restaurant ask if they served any “normal vegetables.” They meant ones from a can. Lord baby Jesus help us all.

I am someone who has no business doling out prescriptions, and I live in a country where ailments and pill bottles are sought after with the same fervor as the winning lottery numbers. The diner I work in reflects this. The tiny hostesses tell me they have bad circulation: I tell them to eat more ginger. For the waitstaff’s rampant hangovers, I recommend a bowl of cucumbers. Complaints of persistent indigestion are met with my pointing wildly to the tub of Greek yogurt in the cooler. Distraught whispers of yeast infections receive the same. Every time I am asked for Excedrin, ibuprofen, or Tylenol, I advise a meal and at least one large glass of water.  As a community that lives off of coffee, RedBull, and skipped meals, my ideas are usually ignored. At most I receive a scoff. Once I see the afflicted person drinking a soda, I let them know that they don’t get to ask me for advice and painkillers anymore. Anyway, I know where the secret Advil stash is.

(7/31/12)

My energy is way better! I’ve been trying to go to bed by 10:30 nightly and not letting myself push the snooze button a third time. Additionally, I try to avoid that goddamn Bread Man’s freebie donuts, and I pretty much never even finish my one glass of iced coffee. When I feel foggy I take spirulina and make myself an iced green tea with honey if I really want it. Also: snacks with protein!  I’ve been eating toast with peanut butter and honey to take care of my early-morning sweet tooth. It goes over better than french toast or pancakes or donuts which make me crash like a motherfucker.

(PS, honey is super cool. Did you know that if you eat local honey it helps your body deal with your allergies? Yep. Good stuff.)

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