And in the beginning...

So.  I'm officially back on my own wagon.  Not anyone else's wagon.  Not a vague, general wagon.  MY wagon.  I imagine it as totally pimped out.  And blue.  With lots of sparkles.  And puppies.

I had every intention of getting up early this morning so I could work out.  But we didn't get much sleep Saturday night.  So the pure exhaustion in my body took nearly beat the life out of my alarm when it went off.  I decided to give myself a break.  I slept in.

I was doing really well having my workout in the afternoons, but I also wasn't doing much cooking.  And since we're now broke and both trying to watch what we eat, not cooking is not an option.  So back to the mornings.  Hopefully it works out.

Today I've given myself about 850 calories in food.  I realize that's not enough on a regular basis, but I need to shrink my stomach and appetite back down to a manageable level, and this has always worked best for me.  One or two days of minimal calories.  It's uncomfortable and makes me cranky, but it makes the rest of my diet much easier to handle.

Tonight I'm making rosemary bacon tri-bean soup.  It will be delicious.  And only about 350 calories per serving.

Nom nom.

One. More. Time.

I can't do this anymore.  I have picked myself up, dusted myself off, and hopped back on the horse/wagon/firetruck more times than I care to admit.  Even to myself.

I'm tired.

I'll be a year smoke-free in 10 days.  I read that and I can't even believe it.  I have a friend from high school who is quitting and uses Facebook as a source of support.  I read her posts and cringe.  I remember those feelings.  Depression, grief (yes, grief), anger, hostility, hopelessness.  It's awful.  I remember it like it was just a couple of weeks ago.  So how has a year managed to go by?

I'm so proud of my quit.  If it were an actual, physical thing, it would be tattered and wet from all the love I would bestow upon it. 

But. 

Why is there a "but"?  I don't even know.  I just feel like there's a huge gaping hole.  I won't fill it with smoking, but I sure as heck have been trying to fill it with just about anything else.  I feel like a vacuum- both the machine (hello chips!  hello hamburger!  nice to see you again, wine!) and the scientific term for the absence of matter.

Poignant.  I am the absence of matter.

Oh well.  Here's to dusting off and picking up.  one.  more.  time.

The Healthy Binge?

I've mentioned it countless times before, but I'll go ahead and reiterate: I am an addict.  The only thing that changes is what my current addiction is.  Luckily, I've managed to free myself from the most unhealthy versions and am currently stuck in a strange pseudo-binge-eating situation.  I still have this need to be full.  I know it's something rooted in my psychology, but I'm not quite ready to start shelling out cash to have someone help me.  I'm far more stubborn (and cheap) than that.  So I need to beat this thing by myself (and the help of a few good friends.)

So here we go.  Hello, my name is Vanessa, and I binge on fruits and vegetables.  Oh yes.  Those are the strangest words, and yet I find them fluttering around inside my cranium almost constantly.  "Is this really a bad thing?"  "Should we leave it alone so that our addiction doesn't turn to something worse?"  "Are voices in my head really a good thing?"

I wouldn't mind at all if I didn't eat normally the rest of the day.  So by the time I dig in for my carrot/celery/frozen fruit and yoghurt festival of scrumptiousness, I've already consumed the vast majority of my calories for the day.  In a healthy manner.  So my nighttime binges are adding a good 400 calories to that, which is making me gain weight (again.)

I need to go back to my origninal plan of not allowing myself to be addicted to anything, regardless of how healthy it is.  The only question that remains, then, is... how do you break the addiction to addiction?

Two steps forward...

I think we all know how that ends.  One step back.  And I have taken a giant step back.

My life involves tax season for three months out of every year.  Three months of 60 hour weeks.  Three months of irregular eating, sleeping, and exercising.  Three months of almost no time to relax.  It begins to wear you down, gobble you up, spit you out.  To add to it, I'm studying for the hardest part of my exams.  So on my one day per week off, I study.  Almost all day.  To add to that, we recently found out our beloved rat terrier has cancer.  Nasty cancer.  The kind furbabies don't generally recover from.  I'm devastated.  My diet has taken a back seat.  My fitness has taken a back seat.  My time to myself has taken a back seat.

I want to stop feeling guilty about slipping during such trying times, but I can't.  I would like to just be proud of the fact that I haven't started smoking again or drinking too much again.  But I can't.  I hate myself and am generally fed up with the fact that every time I try to get my sh*t in order, life creeps up and whallups me with a two-by-four.  Then puts me in a burlap sack.  Then ties me to the back of its rusty old Ford pickup and drags me down some old, rocky road.  Then abandons me out by some hillbilly shack with a mean-looking dog only haphazardly tied up outside.

I don't have time to cook like I like, and I don't feel like it even if I do.  All I want when I come home to my poor, stitched-up, cancer-riddled dog is to curl up with him and some comfort food and watch something mindless.  I hate myself for that, but there's really nothing I can do about it until I gather up my strength to face the mean-looking dog, knock out the hillbillies, steal their dusty blue Pinto, drive back to town, stop at the lumber yard for a four-by-four, confront life, and kick its ass.

Porterhouse Steak with glazed brussels sprouts

Don't make that face.  Brussels sprouts are given this awful reputation because, well, the simple fact is that no one knows how to cook them.  At least I've never met anyone who can cook them properly who isn't a chef.  So I'm on a mission to stop that face.  The face that nearly everyone makes at the mention of brussels sprouts.  How?  By explaining how to make them so that they are delicious.  SO delicious that whenever I make them, I seriously consider giving up all other vegetables.

Here we go.

My very favorite way to prepare brussels sprouts requires that they accompany a steak.  Any kind of steak will do.  Note, though, that I say STEAK.  Not "filet".  There is a difference.  The "cute filet" is actually part of a proper steak, not a steak itself.  The reason it can't be just the filet is that, for this rendition of amazing brussels sprouts, you need the strip of fat that runs along the outside of all steaks.  The filet is on the inside of the Porterhouse, so it does not have that strip of fat.

Moving along.  Turn your oven on to about 350 degrees.  Get out a nice big skillet- the biggest you've got.  The bigger, the better.  Spray a little non-stick cooking spray in there and turn on the heat.  While the pan is getting hot, rub salt and pepper all over the steak.  I like to use fresh-cracked pepper and crushed sea-salt.  Make sure to get the sides, too, not just the top and bottom.  Now, using either your fingers or a pair of tongs, hold the steak so that the fat strip is the only thing in the pan.  Hold it there for a good two minutes.  Most of the fat will render off into the pan.  Now sear each side of the steak until it is brown.  It should take about 30 seconds to a minute, depending on how big and how hot the pan is.  Now turn off the heat, put the steak in a baking dish, and pop it in the oven.

On to the featured item.  Turn the heat on again, but to low.  Using a dry white wine (if you're like me, you've already been sipping on some, knowing that the recipe requires it,) deglaze the pan.  For the deglazing itself, use about a half a cup.  You can add more white wine later if you need to.  This beautiful base is what you're going to cook your sprouts in.  Leave the heat on low while you prepare them.  Cut each sprout's "butt" off- the little protrusion at the bottom.  Then cut each one in half.  Disgard any leaves that fall off.  Place all of the sprouts in the pan so that the inside half is face down.  They will look like a bunch of little hills.  If you have more sprouts, just put them on top for now.  Turn the heat up to medium.


Mince some fresh garlic and thinly slice some red onion.  It doesn't matter how much- it's a taste thing.  If you like a lot of onion, add a lot of onion.  If you don't like onion at all, don't add any.  Same goes with the garlic.  Add them to the pan.


If you had too many sprouts to fit them all on the bottom, then start cycling some of the top sprouts so that they're on the bottom.  Do this often enough so that all of them get fairly equal time on the bottom.  If your liquid runs out, add a little more wine, but it should not cover the bottom layer- just enough so that it is about a half inch in the pan.  When it runs out again, do not add more- instead, add a drizzle of olive oil over the sprouts.  They'll start to hiss.  Toss the sprouts around in the oil so that they all get coated and get a little time at the bottom of the pan.  They'll start to get dark brown in places- that's okay.  Once all of them are al dente, remove from heat.


Check your steak.  In my experience, the brussels sprouts take just about the right amount of time for the steak to be perfectly cooked.  But you should check on it periodically just to be safe.  Poke it.  Yes.  Poke it.  There is NO other way to tell if a steak is perfectly done.  It's all about the poke.  It takes practice, but it's worth it.  Get acquainted with your protein.  Get to know what it feels like at different stages of doneness.  When it's rare, it gives a lot and feels kind of like the flesh at the base of your thumb when your hand is relaxed.  When it's medium rare (which is how beef should be eaten,) it will feel like that same flesh when your thumb is extended as far away from your index finger as you can get it.  When it's well done, it will feel like that flesh when you press your thumb into your other fingers and push (so that the muscle is flexed.)  But those are just approximations.  Like I said, it takes practice.  If it feels right, or a little less done than you'd like it, take it out.  Let it rest for 5-10 minutes.  Then serve with the brussels sprouts.  Sprinkle a little parsely and shaved parmesan over the plate.


I usually split steaks into two servings because, although delicious, a big ole' steak is really REALLY not good for you.  Especially if you eat red meat at other times during the week.

Anyway, hopefully you'll begin to enjoy brussels sprouts as much as I do.  They're incredibly nutritious and can really stand out on a plate- even overshadowing your protein- if made properly.


Love and yummy!

The Starting Line

Last night, Bryan and I enthusiastically packed our gym bags and set out our gym clothes.  This morning, we were to have our first "gym date."  Only... it didn't happen.  I need to re-train myself to wake up early.

But that's not the only problem, unfortunately.  With my extra quit-smoking-holiday-goodies poundage, I'm officially embarrased to go to the gym.  Usually I could care less, but these few extra pounds have made me extra self-conscious for whatever reason.  They are definitely NOT an excuse to not exercise, but I fear they may be enough to keep me at home for a couple of weeks.  Not that that is a terrible thing.  It just means I'll be running and doing yoga and boxing and step aerobics at home rather than where people can see me jiggle.

Our dinner tonight is going to include mushrooms.  I know that for sure.  Beyond that, I have a strange combination of ingredients and a few proteins defrosting, so what we actually end up eating depends on what's good and what's defrosted.  I'll post it tomorrow.

Dinner Parties

With my grandparents, brother, and aunt in town, I had the occasion to cook for a large(ish) party last night. I nearly killed myself doing it, but it ended up being a lot of fun and a great success. The food, though a little cold due to some miscommunication over time, was fantastic. The company was brilliant. The mood was jovial.

I served a first course of what I'm calling "Trilogy Thai Soup" for it's three major flavors: sour, sweet, and spicy. The main components are coconut, lime, ginger, chili, and shrimp. Here's the recipe for 8 people (for a first course) or 4 people (for a main course):

1 can coconut milk

1 can vegetable broth

1 and 1/2 cups cooked brown rice (about 3/4 cup raw)

One medium green bell pepper, diced

2/3 cup diced scallions

1 pound cooked shrimp- tail off

3 tbls lime juice

2 tbls turmeric

1-4 tbls sriracha sauce (Thai chili sauce- sometimes called rooster sauce)

2 tsp freshly grated ginger

1 tbls sweet Hungarian paprika

1 avocado

1/4 bunch of fresh cilantro (Chinese parsley)

Salt to taste

Start cooking rice ahead of time so that it's ready while you're making the soup (brown rice takes about 45 minutes to cook.) Make sure to add some salt to the water.

Put coconut milk, broth, ginger, lime juice, sriracha, and all spices into a pot and begin cooking over medium heat. When all components are well blended (when cold, they'll remain somewhat separate,) add bell pepper. After about 4 minutes, add shrimp. After 2 more minutes, add rice and increase heat to high. Stir frequently. Add scallions. Add all but a few sprigs of cilantro (for garnish) to the pot, after tearing them into smaller pieces (tearing, rather than cutting, releases more of cilantro's pungent flavors into the soup.) After another 2 minutes, turn off heat.

Ladle portions into bowls, making sure to ladle from the bottom of the pot, where all of the rice, shrimp, and peppers will be resting, and then also from the top, where the flavored broth and milk will be. For first courses, this will be about one medium ladle-full of each. Add a small mound of chopped avocado to the middle, where it will be supported by the rice and shrimp below. Add a sprig of cilantro to the top. Love and yummy!

In each (first course) serving, there is about: 300 calories, 19 grams of fat, 19 grams of protein, a quarter of the recommended vitamins B and C and half of the recommended vitamin D, along with about a quarter of all daily recommended minerals, including iron, but excepting calcium. It also includes one full serving of whole grains.

Since I doubt I'll be cooking tonight (I believe my good friend Bubbly and I will be each other's dinner company) I'll post the rest of the meal tomorrow if you want me to. Otherwise, we'll leave it at that!

Happy New Year!

Saints and Zinners

I love the Zinfandel varietal. Love. Lovelovelovelovelove. In fact, I would venture to say that, should I be forced to choose but one alcoholic beverage to drink for the rest of my life, it would be a good Zinfandel.

Now. For anyone who isn't into wine, "Zinfandel" is actually a red wine. Made from red grapes. It is NOT pink. If it's pink, it is a sweet, vaguely wine-like impostor. It is not Zinfandel. White Zinfandel is actually made by removing the skins from those beautiful red grapes and then fermenting just the flesh. It's a travesty and I am becoming nauseated just thinking about it.

Moving on.

Anyway, that was my dinner last night. I decided to have my wine night. It was magical. Just the two of us. Snuggling up on the couch, a romantic fire going, some candlelight. We laughed and cuddled. Oh. Bryan was there, too.

So no recipes today. Unless you'd like me to teach you how to make wine. If that's the case, I'd suggest buying a book. I am by no means an expert. Although I would love to own my own vineyard some day. That's my pipe dream. A small hotel with a vineyard, a winery, and a Michelin-starred restaurant. The likelihood it'll happen? Hah! Slim to none. But a girl can dream, right?

Cooking a big, lovely meal for a large party tonight. I'll post everything tomorrow!

Love and yummy!

Tuscan Rotini with Pancetta, Rosemary, and Thyme

I forgot my cellphone (again) but I did take pictures, so I'll post them tomorrow. I don't know what it is, but I absolutely hate using recipes that don't include a picture of what the dish looks like. Maybe I'm just more of a visual person than a lot of cooks. Who knows.

Anyway. Bryan's dinner was so delicious that I had to have a few bites. But I made up for it by not having my veggies and rice and also not having two glasses of wine. I had one. I planned for three in my calories. That might sound like a lot. Until you taste the wine I currently have in my "cellar" (read: counter top.) It's amazing. I have nothing even remotely near the "just decent" line. So I anticipated my wanting a little more... and then a little more... and then...

You get it. Funny thing is, like I mentioned yesterday, alcohol hasn't been all that appealing to me lately. Not even my lovely wine. Which works for me- I save money and calories. And don't have to be concerned about when I may have crossed that vague line into what I like to call "lush-land."

So here's the recipe- it will make two servings. So a dinner for two or a dinner and a lunch, etc. Or double it for a family, halve it for a single serving.

Two cups whole wheat (or whole grain) Rotini
Half package of lean bacon or pancetta (about 6 pieces.)
Two cloves of garlic, minced (or more, if, like me, you can't get enough of the stuff.)
One 1/2-inch thick slice of red onion, cut into four quarters
Two un-packed cups spinach
1/8 cup extra virgin olive oil
5 sprigs fresh Thyme
2 sprigs fresh Rosemary
1/4 cup grated or shaved Parmesan
Coarse sea salt and cracked pepper to taste
Sun dried tomatoes and/or roasted red bell peppers (optional, but lovely.)

While completing other steps, boil water for pasta and add pasta when boiling- when pasta is finished, strain and set aside.
Cook the bacon or Pancetta until just crispy. Set aside on paper towels and periodically pat any grease off. Let cool.
Drain excess grease from pan, leaving only a film. Put heat at medium and return pan to stove. Add red onion. After one minute, add garlic, stirring frequently. After another minute, add leaves from thyme and rosemary. Return bacon to the pan. Add spinach. If using sun dried tomatoes or roasted peppers, add now.

When spinach is wilted, turn off heat. Add mixture to pasta. Add olive oil to pasta. Add salt and pepper to taste. Mix until olive oil thinly coats all pasta and mixture is evenly dispersed. Serve. Garnish each serving with the Parmesan and a sprig of herbs.

Each serving has approximately: 443 calories, 22 grams of fat (80% from the olive oil, which is a "good" fat), 20 grams of protein and 42 grams of carbs. It's also full of vitamins and iron and contains a full serving of veggies and 2 of whole grains.
Love and yummy!

Shifting Gears

Granted, I'm only about three months into my smoking quit, but I think it's time to switch gears, more or less officially, to my weight loss. I only rarely have cravings that are so terrible I honestly think about giving up my quit, so I'm now going to cautiously put that part of my goal on the back burner. I think it will be okay back there on it's own.

Now my focus is squarely on my weight. I've decided I'm not going to focus on drinking at all. I've learned over the past couple of weeks that I don't need to. It kind of takes care of itself as long as I'm also focusing on losing weight. Alcohol does have calories (and sometimes quite a lot), afterall.

I've also come up with a clear goal. What I want. I want to lose half of my weight. Oh yes. You heard... er read... that correctly. Half. My ass is that big. I have gained 20 pounds since I quit smoking, and those are going to be the first pounds to go. I refuse to let something healthy that I did for myself turn into another problem.

The goal is to lose at least 2/3 of that weight by Independence Day. I am determined to rock a swimsuit and look damn good doing it. I am going to start a chart which I will post soon. Same goes for progress pictures. I'm not posting them now because, well, I want to be able to say I've made progress. I am still mired in my own shame. I am still furious at myself for letting it get to this point. So pictures and my chart will be somewhat retrospective. At a point where I am proud enough that I've done something about it.

So here it goes. I have one day left (New Year's Day) to eat whatever (hangover burritos... yum.) Today, however, I will be good. I am sipping my coffee with no cream and Splenda. In a moment, I will go get one tamale from my lunch and eat that for breakfast. Then two tamales for lunch. Dinner will be veggies only. Maybe a little brown rice. A glass of red wine. Bryan, in the meantime, will get his beloved pasta (but wholegrain) with wild mushrooms, bacon, and I'm thinking an herbed cream sauce. A little sprinkled parmesan. Yum. Too many calories for me, but I do love to cook for the hubby. Maybe I'll start posting some of my healthy recipes here, too. Maybe some of the not-so-healthy ones on special occasions. Like the seared duck breast and red-wine braised duck legs over wild mushroom and goat cheese risotto with pomegranate and redwine demi-glaze I served for Christmas Eve.

Okay. No more. I'm hungry.

Okay, seriously?

What happened to my willpower? I was looking for it yesterday and couldn't find it anywhere! I looked under the scale that keeps ticking upwards. I looked in my holiday-meal-splurge-stuffed refrigerator. I looked in all of the candy-filled stockings. I looked in the closet, between my masses of clothes that barely fit (or don't fit at all.) I looked at work, behind all of the fattening, sugar-filled, caloric suicide food people bring and put in the lunchroom (no doubt because they actually managed to find their willpower, and it commanded them to get that crap out of their houses.)

Hell. I even looked at the Chinese restaurant down the street. After they welcomed me by name and asked if I'd have my usual, I just walked away- my willpower was definitely NOT there.

I've always been able to jump back on the diet wagon. But the wagon must have gotten souped up, cause it's leaving my fat ass in the dust.

I need inspiration. I need motivation. I need someone to babysit me and cart me to the gym no matter how much I kick and scream.

I need to find my willpower.

Strike that...

We start tomorrow, ass. We start tomorrow.

Happy Holidays

I was hoping I'd be so awesome by now that I'd magically manage to bypass the whole gaining-a-bunch-of-weight-around-the-holidays thing. Apparently not.

The husband and I celebrated our birthdays this past weekend. We had a lot of fun. And a lot of drinks. And a lot of food. When it's your birthday, calories don't matter. I think I read that somewhere. Anyway, someone forgot to tell my ass that. It is still under the impression that calories DO, in fact, matter. Not only do they matter. They matter a whole lot. Cookies, apparently, are not calorie free just because it's your birthday. Neither are birthday shots or the hangover burritos the next day.

Damn.

So I made a deal with my ass. I said, "Look, ass. I will give you three more days this holiday season. Three days during which I will not scrutinize you or say you look like a bowl of jelly stuffed into a balloon. Three days on which I will not monitor your big-ness. I will allow you to eat whatever you want. Those days are Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Years Day (for the hangover burritos.) On the other days, I don't want to hear any whining. You will subsist on what I like to call a stranded-on-a-deserted-island diet. Restricted calories. Nothing processed. Nothing refined. Nothing fried. And don't even think of trying to convince me that the plane you were on happened to be a hostess delivery plane. I am smarter than you, ass. I own you. You will obey."

It was a bit of a tough-love talk. But, you know? Sometimes that's what it takes.

Soy Chai

Since when is a venti soy chai a full breakfast? I had to be at the gym at 5:30 this morning, and so didn't want to eat that early. Since I go to work directly from the locker room, I had to improvise for breakfast. The fact that I'm dirt poor combined with the fact that I need to watch my calorie intake led me down soy chai lane.

I'm not entirely sure where the logic came from, but it seemed completely reasonable at the time. Now I realize that while I kept my calories to a reasonable level for breakfast and did get a good dose of protein, I also consumed a... how shall I put this... buttload of sugar. Ugh. I'm so angry at myself and at Starbucks for making such sugary spicy foamy delicious concoctions.

Oh. Did I mention that I added whipped cream? Yeah. Then there's that.

I had a random craving yesterday, but I managed to get through it okay. I think the gym is helping. I was stretching this morning and this guy came over to use the machine I was next to. He was covered in tattoos and reeked of cigarettes. My first thought was, "what are you doing in a gym?" I guess it takes all kinds, as the cliché goes.

More on the gym later.

For now, I'm going to dwell on my utterly preposterous notion this morning that soy chai constitutes a healthy breakfast.

**dwelling**
**dwelling**
**dwelling**

Fab New Diet

I've got it. The next diet craze. I will make millions. I'm going to call it... "Get a severe illness."

It's going to be huge. Hop on board now, before everyone figures it out. My book will be sold out and no one will be able to get a copy.

Okay, obviously I'm kidding, but it was pretty much the only silver lining to three of my four days off this past holiday weekend. Thanksgiving itself was lovely, but Friday? Friday was probably the worst day of my life. I developed Toxic Shock Syndrome, though, of course, at the time I didn't know what it was. First I thought it was my muscle relaxant (soma). Then I thought it was the flu. No such luck. I'll spare you the gruesome details, but essentially I found out it was TSS on Saturday night. Had I known on Friday what I figured out on Saturday, I would have been in ICU. Because that's where they put people with TSS. It's fatal in over half of all cases due to major organ failure.

I managed to fight off the worst of it on my own by forcing fluids whether I couldn't keep them down or not, sleeping, and staying bundled up to stoke the fires of my fever. Later I got antibiotics to kick the rest of it. What is even better than the fact that I am now probably one of the only people to actually lose weight this weekend, is that I gained a new and amazing appreciation for my body. I may fight with it over pecan pie and perfectly roasted turkey, but it's got my back in a serious fight.

And for that, my body is beautiful to me.

Perfect Timing

So I tore a ligament in my neck. While it would never be considered a "good" time to tear a ligament, it's especially difficult now. I have a veritable pharmacy at my disposal to manage the pain, the spasms, and the inflammation, but none of these medications gets along well with alcohol. So I have to either not drink or drink too much (in order to drown out the pain.) Moderation is not an option. Great. Just when I'm trying to re-learn how to do just about everything in moderation (except smoking- no such thing.)

Another side effect? Hunger. Yeah, like I needed more of that. If I don't eat, the pills make me sick and I end up throwing up whatever I last put into my mouth. Not fun, especially considering the fact that throwing up is how I tore my ligament in the first place. I've upchucked more times in the past two weeks than in the past two years. And it's excruciatingly painful to toss your cookies with a torn neck ligament. I end up crying into my toilet.

I swear this is some cosmic joke. It has to be, right? I can't win. I keep hoping I'll wake up and it's been one of those disturbingly real dreams that I thank the heavens is over.

I'll keep you posted on how that goes.

Warrior Pose

When kicking any bad habit, we're taught that we need to know what our "triggers" are. What situations, people, feelings, etc. set off the urge to commit said bad habit. For me, the urge to smoke, at this point in my quit, pretty much only comes when I'm either depressed or stressed. The urge to overeat comes mostly at the same times. Drinking? Same.

I continually find myself in these situations lately. It's like I'm being tested. Work is the worst it has ever been, I'm in a new home, I seem to be going through one of those "pruning" phases with my friends (e.g. I seem to be losing a lot of people I once considered really important), and I'm so broke that I'm just waiting for actual moths to fly out of my pockets- a la vintage cartoons.

I need to find a new way to cope with stress and depression (because that's another "gift" this whole process seems to have given me.) There are volumes written on how to replace the bad habits with healthy new ones and endless lists of suggestions. I don't like them. I feel like a stubborn toddler, but I don't want to do those things. I don't want to meditate. No thanks. Puzzles? I mean, puzzles are fun and all, but I don't have to actively smoke, eat, or drink. Half the fun of those things is that they can be done while doing something else at the same time. I can't really carry on a conversation with my husband while trying to remember that river in China for 24-down. Crafting? MMMmmeeehhhh. I'm more of an active artist than a crafter. If I want to create something, it's usually something very involved. This is a possibility, though. Maybe I'll put that one back on the table.

Take a bath. Right. In the middle of an argument with the HOA, I'm going to hop into the tub. Not really practical in 90% of stressful situations.

Take a walk. See above. While helpful in a few instances, it's not possible in the majority. I'd be walking non-stop. This is just a stab in the dark, but I'm pretty sure my bosses wouldn't appreciate me walking around the building instead of working.

And my favorite of all... stretch. Wait, what? Really? My boss comes in to yell at me. I start getting both depressed and stressed at the same time. I can feel the pressure and soreness in my throat that signals tears are on their way. I take a big swallow. Push it down. Stand up and... touch my toes. Nice. That's good. Oh, sir- go ahead, I'm listening. Just gotta stretch out the old hammies. Aaaahhhhh. Yeah. Ooh! Went a little far there. How about the quads! Sounds nice. Reach behind me and grab my foot, push it into my glut muscle. Wait a minute, this would work WAY better if I took off these bothersome high heels. Okay, keep going. You think my productivity sucks, huh? Oh, sir- you really should get in on this. This is.... fabulous. Okay, well, I'm sorry to hear that my employment is hanging by a thread. That really stinks. Maybe we should stretch out our calves! That's sounds great! Are you sure, sir? You look a little tense. Oh. Okay. See you later!

Come on. Really? Stretching? Who writes these lists?

Waging War

I've managed, somehow, to end up back in a state of depression. I can deal with depression. I've dealt with actual, clinical depression before, so this is really not that bad in comparison. What I'm finding hard to deal with is the fact that I'm going through this at all. I'm over a month quit. I've come to terms with losing "a friend" and having to fill my time. I still haven't been able to brave the sinister, growling porch in order to read, but I'm doing fine with everything else. So why is this happening now?

I know a lot of it has to do with what seems to be mild body dysmorphia and depersonalization. I literally feel as if I'm battling with my own body. I've started thinking of it as "other". I'm not entirely sure when this started happening, actually. I just realized a couple of days ago that I constantly talk and write about myself as if I'm two separate things- my mind and my body. I feel like I have no control over my body. I hate it, but not in the way a teenager hates their body- where one is merely uncomfortable in their own skin and wishes they could be different. No. I actually, literally hate my body- I think of it as an entity separate from myself. This entity has betrayed me. It doesn't care what I want or what I think or what is good for me (or it, for that matter.) It seems only to want to piss me off. When I want to exercise, I suddenly have joint pain. When I want to sleep in, I'm wide awake. When I want to wake up early, I sleep past my alarm. When I want to go to bed early, I can't fall to sleep. When I want to stay up late, I fall to sleep on the couch. When I want to curb my appetite and eat only a little, I'm suddenly voracious. When I've given myself the go-ahead to splurge a little, I'm not hungry.

I. Can't. Win.

I feel like I'm in a fierce battle, and I'm starting to feel the effects. What terrifies me, and what I think is causing the depression, is that this is going to break me. I am so scared that I will keep fighting and fighting and fighting and then realize, at some point, that I can't do this. I'm still determined right now, but my resolve is diminishing. I can feel it.

I hope and pray that my body realizes it's being an a**hole soon and begs for my forgiveness. Otherwise, I fear I may be the one on my knees... broken. Ashamed. And no longer a non-smoker.

Passing one month...

The cravings have, for the most part, stopped. When they do show up, they're far more docile beasts that are easily vanquished. However, I'm now living with this huge, voracious monster. It follows me around religiously and I can almost always smell it's fetid breath and hear it's labored movements. It's become massive and terrifying. It's my appetite.

I've started exercising pretty regularly again. At least four times per week for at least half an hour. I'm proud of that. But it's not helping my appetite. At first I started losing the weight I've gained since quitting smoking, and I was jubilant. Then the appetite began to grow in relation to the exercise so that I'm back where I started again.

Stress doesn't help. It seems like every time I try to take on a life challenge, like quitting or dieting, that's when life becomes the most difficult and challenging all on its own. I've GOT to figure out something that works for me to reduce stress and relax that doesn't involve my big fat mouth.

Ferme ma bouche.

No alcohol. No smoking. No food. Not even healthy food. This has become a problem all on its own. I have got to change the way I think about food. Not just replace my oral fixation with healthy snacking. It's the oral fixation that has got to go. I'm even seriously considering further emptying my already meager pockets on a cognitive psychologist. I fear it may take some professional help to re-structure my thinking process.

But for now, I'm going to try to do it on my own. I'm going to stop snacking altogether. I don't want to be chained to this addictive oral thing forever. Even though healthy snacks won't bust my waistline, they're not going to help me get over the root of the entire problem: my mouth.

I have officially declared war on my mouth and it's irrational desires. I'm going to try starving it. Unless I need to eat or drink for sustenance, it's not getting fed- at all.

Hopefully the monster will shrink in time and stop harassing me. It's really quite unattractive.

Three Weeks...

Apparently, in smoking cessation, there is a well-used term: the icky-threes. The worst points in quitting are 3 days, 3 weeks, and 3 months. I didn't think much of it until I got to this point and started having different and new problems. I'm more emotional. I have joint pain, and now, all of a sudden, I have trouble sleeping through the night without waking. Then I thought about it. I'm at the second "three". My third day was also my worst, so maybe there really is something to it. If so, there should be some sort of involved study of the whole phenomenon.

We're talking really smart scientist-types. If I were a trained research psychologist or neuro-scientist, I would SO be all over it. I have a feeling there's a Nobel lurking in this mess.

Alas, I am neither of those things and must stick to suffering through the mystery rather than profiting from it. **sigh**