This weekend, I ate in a way designed to allow me to swallow my feelings: about Mom's current health condition, about the profoundly challenging health conditions of two of my closest friends, and about my selfish behavior on Friday with someone I love. Thus, in the past four days, I've consumed a whole Trader Joe's Four-Cheese Pizza and a Tab, Indian tea and Danish biscuits (courtesy the lovely Marianne), my favorite muffin (Patticakes' Lemon Zest) washed down with several cups of coffee, an incredible couscous dish by dearest Kate, followed by luscious leftover Huntington Gardens tea scones and the attendant yerba mate tea...oh, the list is longer than that, but I daren't continue, lest I shame myself further.
That's right, friends -- I have immersed my aching soul in carbs and caffeine, the perfect culinary antidote to worry and guilt. For 11 years, that kind of eating has been the most destructive indulgence I allow myself, the thing I do instead of drink alcohol or smoke nicotine and marijuana or take Ecstasy. Which reminds me: I had lunch last week with a friend who recently returned from a Mexican resort, where she took X with her husband. She glowed as she told me about her incredibly enlightening experience. I was only a little envious; recreational drugs are no longer available to me, and there have been times in the past decade-plus I've thought it would be fun to indulge. But there is not a reason in the world -- not today, as they say in AA -- that I would give one day, one hour, one moment, to any artificially-induced high. I am too grateful to be awake and aware to make such a sacrifice. Even when the consciousness is rife with pain. "Pain," said Paramahansa Yogananda, "is a prod to remembrance." Precisely.
To reinforce my precious sobriety, I took my five extra carb-induced pounds to my Sunday AA meeting in the back room of Silver Lake's Cafe Tropical. This is my new home meeting, and I was able to share comfortably and openly about Mom in a safe, compassionate environment -- without snatching a Cuban confection from the tray of sweets that passed under my nose as I spoke! It was immeasurably helpful that sisterfriend Stacie was there to give me a good, long hug. So comforting; and it kept me from reaching for the macaroon.
By the way, you mustn't think I've been holed up in front of the tube with a bucket of buttered popcorn in one hand and a Big Gulp in the other. With the aid of Lulu, The Best Dog Ever Made, I have not been sedentary in my scarfing. We walked every inch of the Venice canals on Friday, we hiked in Eaton Canyon Saturday morning, we've walked miles around my own hilly 'hood. This is a limited and conscious wallow.
I apologized almost immediately to the beloved friend who bore the brunt of my Friday frustration; he assured me I had no amends to make. His forgiveness was a gift, one I don't always give myself right away. Which can dovetail into gimme that cookie.
Mom's positive attitude in the face of a possible cancer diagnosis is breathtakingly admirable. She is my inspiration. And, as proud as she is of me, I know she'd be completely pissed off if I regained the 50+ pounds I lost 5 years ago when I stopped the carbs (before it was all the rage). Don't fret, Mom; it ain't gonna happen. I promise.
Pass the protein, please.
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