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May 22nd, 2011

Well, May 21st came and went and as far as anyone knows there was no Rapture.  No one was miraculously carried to heaven, leaving clothes and running cars behind.  No planes fell from the sky as their pilots suddenly disappeared.  No babies suddenly disappeared leaving dirty diapers behind as remembrances.  The dolphins did not get together and swim to outer space shouting, “So long and thanks for all the fish.”  There was an earthquake in New Zealand and I hear that volcano in Iceland erupted again, but, all in all, that is fairly anti-climatic, I think.  So here we are, the morning after the last day of the world as we know it was to end, laughing into our coffees and shaking our heads at the foolishness of some of our fellow human beings.

 

 

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May 12th, 2011

I wonder why there are some things I just cannot let go. 

 

Some people will say things like “like let it out and let it go”, the theory being, I think, that once it’s out there, where ever there is, you can, and should, just leave it there.  Once that is done you can move on and everything is better.  The sun shines brighter and you your step takes on a jaunty step.  It makes sense to me on an intellectual level, of course.  The less of a load you carry the lighter your soul becomes.  There are people who do seem to be able to do this, who live in the now, unburdened by the past, and from what I’ve seen, these people do seem happier.

 

I am not one of those people. 

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May 8th, 2011

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Today is Mother’s Day.

 

I’ve never been a big fan of Mother’s Day.  Firstly, I am not a mother.  That puts a damper on the whole thing right there.  No home-made presents or burnt breakfasts in bed for me.  Well, I did try to talk the cat into doing it for me, but he was pretty sure cats don’t celebrate.  Secondly, and really most importantly, my mother and I didn’t get on.  It wasn’t that we didn’t love one another.  We did.  We were just two completely different people and that made it hard for us to connect in any way but the purely familial.  The one thing we really had in common is we were both loud and short-tempered.  We hurt each other often with words that could never be taken back and that made any kind of holiday tense as we each waited for the other to burst apart. 

 

But that was then and this is now.  Now my mother is gone, having passed away last year.  With her passing Mother’s Day takes on a new dimension for me.  It’s no longer a day to give my present and run before things go terribly wrong; it’s a day of reflection on what it means to be a mother, and, by extension, a woman in our society. 

 

 

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January 21st, 2011

Thinking about meditation

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I've been working my way back into meditation this week.  Years ago, I meditated on a semi-regular basis, but like with many things that have been important in my life, I sort of let it slide away. 

This past weekend, however, I started reading my collection of Lifelines.  Lifeline is a magazine put out by Overeaters Anonymous, or OA that are meant to be supportive to people trying to recover from unhealthy relationships with food.  In case I haven't mentioned it like a zillion times before, I am a compulsive overeater.  Lifeline collects personal comments, little testimonies, if you will, from members and gathers them around a topic.  I had been allowing myself to drift away from OA of late, mostly because I was avoiding the next step of the twelve.  Something called me back and made me read these magazines as a way to jump back in.  As I read account after account I was struck by one continuing theme, that in order to really recover a person must heal physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  Meditation came up over and over as the method many people were using to connect to their higher power.

I had first used meditation when I read a book on prayer.  For a Christian, meditation is a form of prayer, a way to quiet one's self so that one can really hear the word of God as it is written on one's heart.  I remembered how I maybe never really came up with any answers during meditation, no life changing revelations that altered my life and the world all at once, but I did almost always come away more peaceful and focused.  Focus is one of the things I am now desperately seeking, so I thought I would once again give it a try.

In the past I found that simple prayers coupled with deliberate breathing worked best for me, so I decided that I would do that again this week.  I warned myself that I may not be able to do it at first.  When I first started last time I found that even just real steady breathing was hard for me to maintain.  I also decided that trying to open my day with meditation, while optimal, was a sure road to failure.  Currently, my morning routine consists of hitting the snooze button five times, waking up in a panic at how late it is, hoping I put on clothes that matched and barely getting out of the house with my coffee actually in the mug.  I'm pretty sure if I try to add meditation to that mix it will never happen.  I meditate when I get home.

If I'm not planning to go out again, I start the ritual by taking a shower.  This sort of cleans away the not only the dirt but that first layer of detritus that settles on to my soul with each irritation I face during the day.  Then, when I'm thoroughly dry and in nice clean comfy clothes, I sit down on my bed in a sort of modified yoga position with my hands on my legs palms up.  I know the bed is not traditional and all, but I tried sitting on the floor and I found that mostly I thought about the uncomfortableness of sitting on the floor.  The bed works better.  I have no idea why I sit like I do except that it's sort of like how you see the Buddha sit, and he always looks pretty happy.  I keep my palms open and up as a sort of symbolic invitation to God.  Then I take two long breaths, more if I feel like it, and let them out slowly.  Then with my inhalations I say, in my head, never out loud, "Lord".  To me this is inviting God in with each breath.  Then with each exhalation I say, again, in my head, "I love you."  Inhalations are done through the nose and exhalations are done through the mouth.  I repeat this for 10 to 15 minutes.

Some random notes on meditation:

There is a fine line between concentrating on breathing and falling asleep and that line is easily crossed.

The cat seems to be very disturbed by this behavior.  He will come over and climb up on my chest and start licking, and or biting my nose, in an effort to get me to stop.  I find this a tad distracting.

It's amazing how easy it is to slip into making a shopping list, and that reminds me that I need to buy some lemon juice.

There is a spot just between my shoulder blades that never seems to relax.

I start out my meditations hungry, sometimes so hungry that my stomach aches just a little, but when I'm done I find I don't usually need to eat for another hour or so.

Those nights that I meditate I get far more done than on nights I don't.

I told someone about my prayer and they said they thought it was cool because when you say "I love you" to God, you always get the love back.  I like that thought.
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January 17th, 2011

I thought that for a change of past I would write about something I AM succeeding at.  Believe it or not, and really, who would believe it if you've been reading my blog, and if you haven't been reading it, you probably aren't now, so essentially I'm talking to myself, but I have been doing really well at one part of Project ME.  I have been watching far less television.

Now don't get me wrong.  I am not a television snob.  I'll never be one of those people who says in a voice that you're pretty sure they use at the New Yorker, "I don't even have a television".  Point of fact:  I have five.  Well, I think I have five.  I may have more.  When my mom died I got all of the ones in her condo and the one in her nursing home as well as my own.  I had two at the time, one of which I gave to my ex-roomie because she didn't have one.  I only watch one of these televisions really, but I just can't seem to make myself get rid of the others.  That, however, has nothing to do with what I intended to talk about, but aren't tangents fun? 

Now where was I?  Oh, right, not saying I don't have a television.  The thing is, I like television.  I genuinely like some of the shows, although I'm somewhat embarrassed by some of the show I like.  I like commercials.  I like relaxing and letting something entertain me with out having to do anything in return.  Really, there is very little I don't like about television.  I was raised to feel that way.  I come from a long line of television lovers.  Well, actually the line wasn't that long.  My mother and father were the first in their families to actually own one, but once they did they really committed to the whole idea.  I used to tell people that I had never had a day in which the television wasn't on during my at home awake hours in my whole life.  These people would then look at me with a puzzled look, trying to figure out where the punch line was.  It was true, however, or as close to true as it didn't matter.  A day without television just didn't exist for me and never had. 

When I was in my thirties, I decided that I need to know if I could actually live without television.  I vowed to myself to turn it off and not to turn it back on again for a week.  I couldn't do it.  I made it through three or four days, but then I started making little compromises.  It started with, well, it's a special and it may never be on again.  From there it went to new episodes are okay.  Finally by the end of day six I was watching reruns of the Andy Griffith show and there was no going back.  I've tried again over the years, usually trying to give it up for a week during Lent.  I've been successful only once and I now admit that I was only able to do it by watching some television shows over netflix.

I know the problem.  It's not so much that I'm addicted to television, although, clearly there is a compulsive component to it, it's that I really do not like the sound of silence.  I don't like being able to hear my thoughts and not having anything blocking their passage.  Television is good at blocking thoughts.  Pretty much all thinking ends when the reruns of Roseanne start.  One of my goals, therefore in Project Me, has been to master my television viewing, and with that, master my fear of silence.  I decided to try to limit my watching to one hour each day.  This would not include netflix because, frankly, I don't really use that much.  If there are more than one hour of much see tv for me on any given day, I must use the dvr and find some day when I seem to have run out of good things to watch.

So far, I've done well with this goal.  Oh, I admit that there are days when I watch more than one show, but I find more and more that I turn the television off, especially if I'm not really watching it.  I can't say I love the silence, but I am making my peace with it.  Who knows, maybe by the end of the year I'll be able to actually give away one or two of my televisions.

January 16th, 2011

It has been just way, way, too long since I've updated. 

When I started Project ME, I thought of journaling as a way to keep myself on track and to have an almost continuous anecdotal account of what I was doing to use in evaluation.  I still think of it that way.  Well, let's see.  I haven't journaled since the day after Christmas, so what does that tell me?  Knowing my propensity for avoidance, I would say that I was a) avoiding admitting something, b)  avoiding writing in general, c) avoiding moving on, or d) all of the above.  Tick tock, class.  Which is it?  What, you choose d) all of the above.  My aren't we clever.

I am avoiding admitting that I have not been mastering anything, unless maybe it's master too much.  I haven't been really out of control.  I've avoided most of my worst pitfalls.  I have not yet eating an entire bag of Lay's Ruffles or consumed my weight in chocolate.  I have stayed away from my own form of the crack house, KFC.  I haven't been keeping the Sabbath, even by my own lax rules of what that might mean.  I haven't been having quiet meals at the table.  I have managed to watch very little television (most nights), but to be fair, that's because all my favorite shows have been on hiatus.  They come back this week.  I haven't journaled, but that much was actually obvious.  

Well, there.  That took care of avoidance a).  I have admitted my sins.  Confessions, say the mythical "they" is good for the soul.  I guess I do feel a little better about putting it all down in writing. 

Now, for avoidance b).  I have been avoiding writing in general.  What a sad state of affairs that is.  I love to write.  There is something completely magical about taking your thoughts and dreams and ideas and fantasies and giving them life in such a way that other people could, if they chose, share them with you.  It's a conjuring trick and Lord knows I love a good bit of conjuring. 

So why would I avoid something that gives me such joy, you may ask?  A part of me wants to say because writing is work and I am basically a lazy woman, but I suspect that isn't really me answering.  That little bit of negative thinking comes straight from my Mom.  She had her own sort of conjuring, I'm afraid.  I don't think she meant to do this, I know, were she here, she would deny the intention, but I think my Mom painted me in a negative light because it helped her to feel better about how different we were and much I had veered from the path she had been forced to follow.  She saw my natural relunctance, apprehension and shyness and found laziness.  She saw my desire to know, to understand things, as being too smart for my own good.  She saw my thirst for positive attention as showing off.  She saw my creativity as lying.  She was my mother, and I loved her, I still do a year after her passing, but she took me and buried me deep inside a golem of self-doubt and self-hatred, and then wrote the magic words, I love you to make it come to life. 

What has all that got to do with writing?  Writing comes from somewhere deep within.  I swear sometimes when I right my mind isn't even a part of what goes down on the paper.  It's like a bit of my soul has escaped and jumped right through my fingers and onto the screen.  The thing is, whether she meant to or not, my mother, and just about every experience I had growing up, has made me believe with all my heart that anything I enjoy must be wrong, that anything I want this badly cannot be right to have.  I don't deserve the good fortune of being able to work magic.  I'm simply not good enough.  Even as I write those words, "I'm simply not good enough", in an attempt to show how wrong they are, I know, really know they are true.  I'm not.

Or, maybe I am. 

Yeah, so rather than face the nagging voice that tells me enjoying myself is just wrong, I avoid writing all together.  This is one place that I really must learn to say Enough.  No, I have to learn to shout it.  ENOUGH!!!!!!!!!

So, tht was b).

Lastly, I come to c) avoiding moving on.  My therapist tells me that I have catastrophic thinking.  Everything is all or nothing for me.  This is true.  I have been fighting the urge to just give up, pack it in, call it a day... pick a metaphor and run with it.  I started this as a year long experiment on purpose.  I knew if I gave it no timeline that I'd quit the moment I failed to live up to the glory of the first few days.  I almost did any way.  So now the challenge is to remember that even if I'm not doing well at my own goals, even if I haven't mastered enough in any part of my life, I still have months to go before I can stop trying.  It's harder than I thought it would be and I'm finding that I'm not really sure who that person is inside the layers of baked on clay.  I wonder, when she comes out and walks the world unemcombered for the first time, what she'll be like.  I hope I like her.  I hope she'll remember to be kind to me.

December 26th, 2010

Twas the Day After Christmas

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No, this isn't going to be a short story, but ain't that a great title?

I can't believe it has been a week since I last posted to this journal. Well, actually, I can.  After all the date's right up there for me to see and I doubt even my journal would lie.  Well, actually, maybe it would.  There was a time, when I was just a kid, when I was considered to be quite the accomplished liar.  Sometimes I would lie just to see if I could get away with it.  Now I call it writing fiction.  Tomato/Tomauto.

So, about this week.  In terms of Project Me, I would honestly have to say I pretty much torpedoed it.  Last week I know I talked about my all or nothing mentality.  This week, I think, I pretty much went with nothing, which despite being aware of the danger I allowed to carry over from the week before.  Oh, I couched it in acceptable (acceptable to me, any way) terms.  First I told myself it was because I had a really bad tooth ache and couldn't deal with anything.  This was semi-true.  I did have a first-rate tooth ache.  In fact, I currently have a tooth that is only partially a tooth and really is mostly a hole.  It was infected and hurt like the Dickens.  That, and the vicodin haze that accompanied the tooth did kind of, sort of account for Monday and Tuesday.  Wednesday, I put it down to being off my routine because I had no Bible Study.  Thursday, well, I didn't go to OA, again, and I told myself that they probably would have canceled anyway.  Friday began the great Christmas denial.  By the time last night roled around, nothing had gotten done, I had watched way too much television and my eating was completely out of control.  I had abandoned my supports, including God, and pretty much didn't even try to get back on track.

I lie still, don't I?  I lie to myself.  I do it often and I do it easily.  Sometimes I'm aware I'm doing it but pretend I believe my own excuses.  Sometimes I'm not even aware that I've lied until the consequences are there.  Pretty nifty talent, huh.  The lying and the numbing of the senses with food and television, vicodin or whatever happens to be handy seem to go hand in hand.  I can lie to myself if I don't pay attention, so I distract myself with numbing agents.  Numbing agents keep me distracted so that I can lie even more.  What fun!  I've created my own subconcious vicious circle.

So, what have we learn, dear concious self?  We have learned that I must stay in tuned.  NO TELEVISION THAT IS NOT PLANNED!  Today that t.v. stayed off and while I wasn't incredibly productive, I don't think I was actively distructive.  I think I must be fair to myself and allow that there will be times when I will need to switch it down to low, but I cannot remain there.  The trick now will be how to make sure that those times are genuine and to know when to turn the attention toggle up to high.  I honestly don't know how to do that yet.  I'll work on it.

There were some highlights this week.  I went to watch my sister bowl.  Her team is made up of all special needs folks in their middle ages.  While it was pretty boring for the most part I was amused by how considerate they were of one another.  The able bodied helped the physically disabled.  Everyone cheered for everyone.  It was like there was simply no jeering aloud.  Outside of Special Olympics you hardly ever see such gracious losers and such gracious winners.  You also don't see that many Santa hats in one space, but that's neither here nor there.

They took my tree on Wednesday.  They said it was dying and it probably was, but it's sort of sad to see a huge stump where once there was a very tall tree.  I miss it.

Christmas has come and gone.  The whole week has been pretty sad for me.  This Holiday was one of the few times we could all be together as a family and not really hurt each other.  We had traditions and stories and memories that we told over and over, rerunning the best days in our lives together like a familiar episode of a fifties sitcom.  There really wasn't any of that this year.  My sister and I exchanged gifts, we ate dinner, which wasn't goose, and we watched a couple episodes of Dr. Who.  I really wanted to take some of the strange out for my sister's sake, but I don't know if I succeeded.  To me, it all seemed very strange. 

Parents die and children go on.  That's the natural order of it.  I think it might be an easier transition, however, for people with other family to carry on with.  If I had children I wonder if it would be easier.  They would be a distraction, sure, and we all know I like distractions, but I think maybe there is comfort in knowing that while one generation passes on another generation is waiting in the eaves ready to take the stage.  A journey ends and a new begins.  I never really wanted children of my own.  I never thought I'd be a good mother.  I don't doubt really that that was the right decision.  What I do miss is that I'll never have grandchildren.   I'm sort of sorry now that I didn't understand why my mother wanted them so badly.  There is a sense of completion that I seem to be missing.  I don't know.  Maybe I just want it because I can't have it.  Yet, somehow, I don't think so.

December 19th, 2010

Let's Review, Shall We?

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Well, my (what has it been... three weeks?  Yeah.  Let's go with that.) third week of Project ME has come to and end.  It is time to review.  Okay, it's way past time for reviewing but I guess that is part of the review, now, isn't it.

Actually, outside of the whole blogging my progress part, which I will be the first to admit is not happening as it should, I have done pretty well.   Oh, man, am I having trouble saying that, so let's get this out of the way right away so I can move on.  

Today sucked!  It sucked like an industrial-sized hoover being used on a dust mite.  It sucked harder than a four-year old on a blue Popsicle on a hot, July day.  It sucked worse than...  You get the idea.  Today just wasn't all it could be.  First, I gave up the idea of celebrating Sabbath in order to get caught up on the work I didn't do yesterday, and then, I didn't really do the work.  Oh, I made a list and sort of stabbed at it, but I didn't make an worth while cuts.  I didn't eat dinner without distractions and even as we speak I am typing while the television is on a rerun of the Simpsons.  So, yeah, sucked.

There.  But the rest of the last two weeks I have to admit did go pretty well.  Really.  It did.

So why do I feel like, after only three weeks of a year-long experiment I've failed.  Damn.  I hate to admit it but my therapist was right.  I have catastrophic thinking.  If I messed up one day, every thing is done.  I have to really fight that because honestly, I'm really so upset with myself.  But then again, I've been sort of off all week and today has sort of been a high point in lows.  Let's face it, this is a hard time for me and probably the wrong time to start this experiment.  This is the first Christmas with my mom and dad both gone, and I'm really feeling it.  It's pulling a shade over everything and very little sun is shining through.  So what do I do?  I fall back on all those things I've done in the past to make myself feel better.  Well, to be fair, not everything.  I didn't drink... although I did consider it.  I guess I didn't really eat outrageously either, although I haven't lost even one freakin' pound.  I did sit and watch tv yesterday and today, and bought books I really didn't need.

You know, come to think of it, that's really not so bad is it.  Maybe I need to redefine what success means.

This was completely disjointed.  Some weeks are like that, I guess.

December 5th, 2010

The Week That Was

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The first week of Project ME is now in the record books.  Well, it would be if there were a record, and an actual book to keep the record in, but I digress.  There have ups and downs, highs and lows, peaks and valleys and all manner of direction words yet to be used.  I shall try to hit a few of the highlights in the spirit of honest appraisal.

Let's start with the misfires, since then I can end on a happy note.  There was sausage day at the Center.  What the hell is it about sausage?  I know I explored that a little in a previous post, so I won't go in depth about it, but there is something about the junk parts of a pig that just entice me beyond all understanding.  Perhaps it is the taste of forbidden fruit that gets me.  No, pork is not forbidden me, but I do feel guilty eating it.  Pigs are smart and social animals and it feels a little like eating a puppy dog when I really think about it.  It's a feeling I overcome on a regular basis, though.  Even as I type I am having a lunch of ham and bean soup.  I did splurge and have not one, but two, drinks at the Center holiday party on Friday.  I know I'm really not supposed to drink at all and getting the second drink despite all the little bells in my head firing NO was not a good thing.  This is not a religious thing, by the way, but a way to keep myself from binge drinking, which has been a problem in the past. I'm currently struggling with this particular desire and I need to be extra vigilant.  My portion sizing does need some work at the Center.  I find that I'm actually eating when I know I'm really done.  I wonder if it's the noise and distraction that makes it harder there.  Thank God there is limited ability to go get more and that, sometimes, I have to end before I'm really done.  Carrot cake continues to taunt me.  Why, oh why, must it be so delicious and yet so, so bad for me?

I did have some total fireworks going on this week!  Let's start with sparklers and work our way up to the canon shots.  First, I have had quiet, controlled evening meals every night this week, except for the Holiday party, which was neither quiet nor controlled.  I now find that I look forward to this evening meal as it is really a time alone with me and with God.  I like the idea that I am growing comfortable with the silence (although that is still a work in progress) and that  I am able to eat slowly, with appreciation and thanksgiving for what I have.  I made a recipe and only ate the single portion of it, which I'm not sure I ever did before.  I have even, and this has now happened several times, admitted to myself that I have had enough and pushed away the plate with food still on it.  I've even done this two times at restaurants.  To my routine of quiet meals I have added that I will always have a glass of water and a pot of hot herbal tea to go with it.... no diet coke or iced tea.  I do not drink enough water and I think this is a way to start the change.   At the end of my meal, when I am actually done eating, I sit with my tea and read the days paper.  I have found this routine really relaxing and I will stick with it as much as I can.

On Sunday I asked myself a question.  What would happen if I limited myself to just one hour of television a night and I only watched from 9 to 10?  My theory became that first, I would have to be far more intentional about what I watched and actually pick and choose what to watch.  Second, I would have to use my DVR because so many of my shows are one hour long and only a few actually come on at 9:00.   I knew I would have to make exceptions for movies with my friend, a ritual that builds companionship and family, and for shows that I love that might go beyond the one hour limit, for example two-hour specials.  I'm still working out in my head where streamed tv fits into this.  The theory went on to postulate that I would have far more time and get far more done if I weren't sitting in front of the television wasting time watching such educational stuff as The Bad Girls Club.  I also theorized that this might be the hardest thing I'm going to ask of myself in Project ME because I am, at the very heart of it, a tv geek.  I am pleased to say, with one minor glitch on Friday where I did watch two shows, instead of one, and did have the tv on while I got ready for the party, I did very well indeed! Strangely, I haven't had a lot more time.  I guess I am getting more work done, but not much.  It still seems I have to rush too much.  We'll see if this is just perception or maybe some catching up that's getting in the way.  At any rate, I still think this is a part of the experiment that should continue on.

Today is the day I've set aside for Sabbath.  I'm not sure I can really call myself successful yet at this.  In order to make this truly a day of rest I have to get my shit together on Saturday and I wasn't able to do that this week.  There is so much to do and I cannot allow myself to keep putting it off or one of the main reasons for this experiment is shot right down.  I suppose I need to trust a little more that God will help me do it and that I will be able to get it together.  I also would like to start going back to Church.  I miss the community I have there and it is a wonderful part of a Sabbath ritual to worship with others.  Still, I am sitting in a quiet house.  I'm relaxed and concentrated.  I plan to read more of my Rest book and maybe even do some of the exercises in the back.  I have promised myself if I do work it will be without a sense of panic.  I'd say that's progress.

I am seeing some changes already, although I know I am in what we in the childcare biz call "The Honeymoon Phase".  I am far more relaxed at night after my new dinner routine.  I think I'm reading more, if that's possible.  I've written in both my blog and my journal several times.  I am definitely more controlled in my eating and....and here I need a drumroll....  I lost 7.8lbs this week!!!!  Yep, that's right 7.8lbs.  I weighed myself three times just to be sure.

So on I go into the new week.  Follow me if you dare.

December 1st, 2010

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So, I learned something today. 

It is incredibly hard to say enough to breakfast sausage; even no longer hot, too greasy, not near brown enough breakfast sausage.  There is something about that particular meat product that sets my mouth into a Pavlovian response of drool.  I have a similar relationship with bacon, especially, extra crispy, oven fried, thick sliced bacon.  I may have to add them to my "Never, Never" list.  That is the list that represents foods I can never eat because I simply will never be able to control them.  I've already added popcorn, and any form of fried potato.  It's the grease I think.  Sad, isn't it.  I love fat.  I never have understood the desire for an extra lean piece of meat.

Project ME, despite the intrusion of yummy portions of pig, is going well at the moment.  One thing I'm finding hard is to really concentrate on one thing at a time.  I am now eating at the breakfast bar, with real plates, silverware, tea and water... everything served out on the plate attractively and a candle lit for ambiance.  While I eat there is no tv, no phone and (gulp) no internet.  I'd like to say there is no kitty, but well, he continues to insist.  The idea is to eat without distraction; to say enough to eating while doing a thousand other things, with everything shoved together in a bowl, never really knowing exactly what you ate and when you finished.  I'm finding the results of this part of the experiment interesting.  First, it's hard for me.  OMG, I have to use a lot of resolve not to open the newspaper and just sneak in a few headlines while I chomp my carrots.  It does seem to be worth the mental challenge though.  I find my evenings are way more relaxed and I actually notice that I'm filling up.  That last might sound odd, but I rarely feel full while I'm eating, only after I've finished.   I've been taking my time and actually thinking about what I'll cook as well.  Yesterday I even looked a recipe on the WW site and bought the ingredients, cooked and ate the correct portion of it.  For the record, pork chops are delicious with sweet sourkraut and apples.  Who knew?
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