On the matrimonial resolution

Here we go again. I'm getting back into the swing of edia blogging, since the wedding is about a month away and I'm keen to look as trim and healthy as possible on the day of blessed occasion. So: healthy lunches consisting of leftovers, light on carbs. A handful of nuts in the morning on the train will keep my eyes open and start the day with a tang of salt. After the gym, breakfasts of low-cal full-nutrition shakes, pre-packaged (oh what an indulgent expense!) but hard to find excuses not to use (ESPECIALLY after I've already paid the money for them). Dinner: one plate and one plate only at the family meal. No snacking, Mr. Bos. No cheating, savvy?

And, in what looks like a capitulation to dangerous urges, milk of magnesia once a week. Not because I think it is some kind of smart strategy for rapid weight loss, but for health reasons. Explanation: My immune suppression makes me much more susceptible than most to respiratory infection; indeed, I'm constantly trying to shake bronchitis. Since my upper lungs are always inflamed, I am always coughing up foamy sputum. The magnesium salts, er, reduce the fluid in my body, leaving less available to cough up. In other words, low-level hydration makes it easier to breath. It's a hassle to balance these concerns. And further, while I'm fighting off the urge to "be responsible" and make use of the food in my environment, and not let it go to waste. I'm not HUNGRY. Indeed, most days I want very much NOT to be eating, not because of any high-minded goal to Get Fit (though that's there), but because eating makes me feel gross.

(And what's that all about, Zak?)

If it hurts, don't do it

No better reason to restart this exercise in self-observation, than this article in the Atlantic, on the secretly piggedly natures of foodies. Here's B.R. Myers quoting Todd Kliman from one of the Best Food Writing anthology:

I watched tears streak down a friend’s face as he popped expertly cleavered bites of chicken into his mouth … He was red-eyed and breathing fast. “It hurts, it hurts, but it’s so good, but it hurts, and I can’t stop eating!” He slammed a fist down on the table. The beer in his glass sloshed over the sides. “Jesus Christ, I’ve got to stop!” 

Back to a more disciplined habit of consumption with me. We'll start with lunch. 

Back again with two quick meals

Breakfast: a packet of Hostess Twinkies given to me by a faculty member with more brains than appetite. Lunch, at 11:30: a slide of cheese pizza from T Anthony's, purloined from the faculty grading party going on in our conference room, washed down by a mugful of Sprite I found in the fridge. I will now have some water. There, that should neatly cancel out the calories from the soda. Right? Help.

I couldn't resume my blogging earlier? As last week, when I had a lovely meal with mah gal over at Grafton Street? Or earlier this week, at a birthday party in Allston held at a great Indian restaurant, or last month when one of the faculty shared leftovers from a Persian class dinner the night before -- khoresht e baamieh, oh la la. No. I had to restart with Junk Food Friday. 

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A question for the day: in the long run, will the money I save by scavenging food and eating food gifts, by more than the money I have to pay to remedy all the health problems I develop from eating pizza and snack cakes regularly?