Loving to Hate

What's with this little weenie laptop? Where's my lovely friend Dell? Oh, wait look, this one is a Dell, too. But it's a twinki Dell, feels funny to type on, rather awkward and tiny.

Anyway, I have found a new relationship to be in, and, yes, it's a love-hate relationship. I have found a new love of an old friend, but I'm hating not being able to love this old friend. Yes, I'm loving the fact that I now fit my size 10 jeans, but I'm hating the fact that I haven't eaten anything in 6 days. I love the thought of my body being able to heal and clean itself up, but I hate the fact that I haven't eaten in 6 days. I love the fact that if I don't give up, I'll just keep losing the fat and the toxins,BUT I hate the fact that I haven't eaten in 6 days. I love the fact that Wal-Mart still sells Lindor truffles, sweet, beautiful, consouling truffles (no, licking the packaging doesn't count as eating, so I'm in the clear on that one), but I HATE THE FACT that I haven't eaten in 6 STINKIN' days (if it wasn't unlady-like to swear, I would let out a long, sailor-styled line of obsenities at this point!). I love to hate my new life at this current place and time.

It's rather odd, I find comfort being in the kitchen, making meals and freezing them, baking bread and fruit breads (banana bread never smelled so sweet!), cookies, granola. I can do all that and not miss a beat, but you wanna talk about making dinner? That's another story. It's like Dr. Jekel and Mr. Hyde. Pleasant Little Suburban House Wife turns into Psycho Carrie, ready to unload on any little person that says, "Mommy, I need....". It's bizarre. Obviously, I love my dinner. Between 4 and 6PM are my weakest moments. Before then and after, I'm truckin' along, singing the Dori song, "Just keep swimmin'! Just keep swimmin'!"

I'm having Garibaldi's withdrawls. Chips, salsa. OH, if I could only have an affair with their salsa, mmmmmm.... And what about my Chile Colorado? Or my beloved Burrito Jalisco? Or my picadillo chimi and tamale combo!! Oh, the pain! Oh, the longing! Oh, the drama!

Let's think about something else, shall we....like...like....umm...thank you, stomache, for reminding me at this precise moment how lonely you are. Let's think about...monkies. Monkies are cute...when they're plastic. Ears, tail, little lips and mouth, fingers. Smelly. Ancestors. (hahaha) No, monkies is not cutting it here, let's think about something else.

Mountains. Ahh, now there's something good to think about. Purple mountains majesty. Fresh air. Scenery. Birds singing. Soft breeze swaing the Indian Paint Brush. Divine.

Homesteading. I'd like to do it. I'd get me a goat to milk, a pig to slaughter, and a cow to slaughter, too. I'd start a small orchard; apples, plums, pears. I'd start me a garden; veggies galore! I'd start me an herb garden and perfect the art of making tinctures. I'd plant so much basil I could swim in it! I'd plant my own wheat, grind my own flour and make my own pasta. I'd have a berry patch. Black berries and red raspberries; I'd just walk outdoors and have me some breakfast. I'd plant me some melons. Oh, lucious watermelon! I'd plant me some flowers; daisies, Black-eyed Susan's, hollyhocks. No roses allowed! Grapes. I'd start me some grape vines. Honeysuckle! I'd put it outside my bedroom window. I'd come to town for toilet paper, and that's about it. (No, I'd skip the outhouse, just incase you were wondering. I'm not THAT in to homesteading!)

Okay, that's looking like enough gibberish for tonight. Let's hope I can make it through another day of fasting tomorrow. I was hoping to go 30 days. Maybe even 40. At 40 days, though, I'd being weighing in around 120 pounds--I'd look like a Hollocost survivor! At 30 days, I should be around 130...I was a size 6 at 135 pounds, so I'll be pretty stinkin' skinny at 30 days, too. I'm not even going to think about the next 22 days--I'm just going to try to make it through tomorrow!

Oh, my beloved sandwich wrap, bacon, lettuce, tomoato, avacado, red onion, triple meats, all rolled up in a beauty of a wrap; I shall dream of you tonight. (Or should I say lust about?) Come visit me in my dreams and leave me sweet kisses in my belly.....

OK, I'm losing my cookies.....mmmmm...cookies. I'd better go before I salivate all over this pathetic excuse for a Dell.