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tales of something simple - i’m not going to lie to you: eating fruit is hard

i believe

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

all types of chaos

i'm not going to lie to you: eating fruit is hard

So I’ve really been trying to be healthier.  Notice I did not say “I am trying to lose weight.”  Though living healthier should imply as such.  For the most part I feel like I’ve completely changed my eating habits.  For one, salad is a constant fixture in my life. Second, I eat fruit.  Say what?  Yes, fruit.  That stuff that grows on trees and they squish it into a bottle and call it this fabulous thing called wine.  Except I’m having the fruit minus the booze–double bummer.

Additionally, I’ve consistently had 1-2 different kinds of vegetables for every meal I make for dinner and they aren’t frozen or canned!  Shopping at a produce market has become a hobby and a three times a week kind of hobby at that.  Spending less than $10 on a whole basket of colorful and healthy items kind of gives me a girl hard on.  I don’t buy Tastykakes anymore (though, Tastykake, if you are reading this, this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t send me free shit for giving you a shout out…my address is…) and any snack I have comes from some bullshit child sized pack that says “100 calories” on it.  Brian often appears from the kitchen at 12am with 4 of them and I kindly remind him that he is missing the point.

I don’t so much say no to certain foods as I just avoid them so I don’t have to sound like a skinny, whiny bitch avoiding sugar and sweets. My biggest downfall probably wasn’t ever snacking or junk food.  It likely was and unfortunately still is portion control.  I’ll skip breakfast and then eat lunch for five. I scarf down a late dinner like it’s my last meal before walking into the execution chamber.  When I eat steak, I’ll eat mine, yours and what you portioned for the dog.  When there’s extra of anything I gobble it up like no tomorrow, no matter the meal and no matter the time of day.  Yes, I realize this is a problem.

I’d like to start eating all meals off of dessert plates, but I know this won’t fly with the hubby.  Matter of fact, I’d like to develop an eating disorder so I can avoid the whole thing but that’s probably not socially or medically accpetable or recommended.  Granted, I sound like a big whiner. And I am.  I weigh a consistant 145 pounds and while I don’t have any problem with the number (OK I do a little bit because my BMI–which I think should stand for Body Mass Indulgence–is higher than it should be, which then actually makes me overweight which is scary), I have a problem with how the number looks on me.  Particularly my yummy muffin top and tree trunks that hold it up.  Oh and the arm flab is getting awesome too.  All of this also equates to discovering how out of shape I am/was (I’m working on the running thing…damn heat wave!) and all of the sudden I look in the mirror and go, holy shit, where did my 19 year old body go?

At the same time I have embraced my curves.  I am no longer the 95lb. stick in highschool and according to my handsome husband, I look better this way.  It’s just been mentally difficult to literally have transitioned into every size up from 0-8 in only a few years.  Makes you feel kind of whale like.  I’m learning that while being healthy doesn’t necessarily melt off fat or a self-loathing body image, it does encourage me to really learn to accept the daily reflection and wear my skin with confidence.  I need to get the self-hatred I have quickly developed for the shell that I am on the outside out of my system because in the words of a fantastic, sassy and gorgeous girlfriend, “No one likes a Debbie downer.”

Cheers to that–with an apple, minus the alcohol content.

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