Lately, when I'm not in the kitchen, I'm running around to various stores looking for ingredients or at the gym, or reading cookbooks with a glee that should be reserved for erotica. Meanwhile, the dog is not thrilled.
He's not so into the vegan change around here. (I think he'd like an egg.) Yet he did go nuts for the sliced jicama I gave him the other day. I mean nuts! I had to run and hide the jicama before he ate it all - which probably wouldn't have been a problem, but if it was we all know just who would have to clean it up. I'll say no more.
It's hot, hot, hot today and I still baked. Yup. At least it was a quick 20 minutes so things didn't get too hellish from the oven.
I feel really, exceptionally busy. Overwhelmed busy. Yet I'm not entirely sure what I'm busy doing. (Aside from the experiments in cooking). Maybe it's all the thinking. That'll wear you out.
I was thinking about food. (Shocking, I know.) Thinking, really, about my complex and often annoying relationship with food. It's been a life-long issue. From my mother's inedible stove-top abominations (spare-ribs with sauerkraut and potatoes... boiled to a beautiful grey. Yum.) to my ridiculous anxiety about eating in public (I'm better there, but oy sometimes... and I am not someone you will ever find eating while walking down the street) food has always been a sore point. Mirrors in public are also problematic, but food has always been the root of issue-laden anxieties. Which, naturally, led to body-issues which were helped along enormously by an alcoholic/anorexic mother who at 5'7" weighed 110lbs at her heaviest and brought me to Weight Watchers at 11 years of age. I was 5' 4" tall and yes, bigger than the other kids because I was FULLY GROWN in the fourth grade people. (okay that's an exaggeration - I did grow another 1/2") But I was wearing a "B" cup in elementary school. That's not fat, that's precocious hormones! Still. That first diet started a chain of "I suck" that continued on for decades. Nice.
So here I am now. Astounded at how much better I am. Better about forgiving myself for the stupid things I used to berate myself for on a regular basis (and by stupid I mean STOOPID: why didn't you dust today?!!). Better about not hating my body quite so much (honestly, I adore my ass. Go figure.) Better about not feeling guilty for eating. Better about not feeling obnoxious and vain about thinking I'm not entirely beast-like ugly. Better about everything.
It hit me this morning: the food thing.
I'm a Vegan for a month and I realize I'm actually feeling comfortable about food, buying it, talking about it but most importantly not apologizing for eating it!! Hell, I started a blog to TALK about and SHOW OFF what I EAT! That and all the dozens of photos of myself that I've put up here is HUGE for me. Huge! Because these are long-held sore points for me. And it occurred to me this morning that I seem to be okay with these [former] I.S.S.U.E.S. all of a sudden. Without planning on it. Without 'working' on it. Without even noticing it was happening.
I don't know if it's because I'm experiencing a nutritional epiphany because I'm (very likely) a helluva lot better nourished than I was before, or because I'm eating without worrying about the fat content, carb content, calories - just whether or not it has any animal products in it. I eat, I feel great, and I'm losing weight... without stressing it.
Just another wonderful thing about being alive. The wonders of getting over myself.