I'm hungry.
Really, really hungry.
Not starving, not light-headed, not about to pass out or anything but hungry nonetheless.
Today's my fìrst day on the Super Shred Diet. It was created by Dr. Ian Smith of VH1's Celebrity Fit Club fame and is touted as being a HEALTHY but short-term diet for those wishing to lose weight in a hurry.
I damn sure fit that criterion.
In the four months since Lorenzo's accident, I've gained 20 pounds. This should come as no surprise to those who know me well. As a lifelong, emotional eater I've gone through exactly ONE crisis in my life where I DIDN'T gain weight so you can imagine what I've been doing to while away all those lonely nights without Lorenzo.
Eating.
Oh, and drinking.
But...as of yesterday it's been exactly three months since he died.
My grace period is up.
I spoke at the funeral. And I promised Lorenzo that I'd live my life to the fullest, the way he'd want me to.
And this?
Ain't that.
So...super shred.
It's a four week diet and while I've always been more of a Weight Watchers girl, that won't work for me this time.
See, I don't want to think more than I absolutely have to. I don't want to plan meals, calculate points, or figure out what I'm in the mood to have for dinner. I just want to open a book, be told what to eat and in four weeks, step on the scale and see a much smaller number than I saw today.
So...here goes nothing.
Except, hopefully, some of this ass.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
Regret
You died exactly three months ago today.
I didn't go to therapy yesterday. I'd made it all the way to Belmont by the time Dr. Green called, apologetic and more than a little embarrassed at getting her days confused and double-booking me with another patient. She offered to see me later that evening, to conduct a phone appointment, to reschedule our appointment for today instead but I declined each offer.
'It's OK, really, it's no problem.' I assured her.
'I feel awful' she replied, 'Are you sure next week is okay?'
'It's fine, don't worry, I had a really good week' I lied, before confirming our next appointment and getting off the phone.
Telling Dr. Green I'd had a really good week was a lie, not because I had a bad week but because I barely have any recollection of the previous week at all. Amira had a stomach bug for a couple of days, and I read some great new books but other than that...each day blurs into the next.
After we got off the phone I ducked into the midday quiet of Native Foods where I got the twister wrap (it's not EXACTLY a salad) and made myself eat half of it before leaving. I made it all the way back to the train station before I let myself fall. I'm good at home, that's where I have to be good because I have a child for whom I have to hold it together. I'm good at school, at the playground with Peirce friends, and I'm good at Mira's swim and dance classes. But on the train, alone, I listen to the songs that you and I could agree on and I let myself fall. I listen to the soundtrack of our relationship. Maroon 5, Adele, The Weekend, Bruno Mars. I listen to music you used to laugh at me for loving. Katy Perry, Nick Jonas, Arianna Grande. And I remember. I remember the time we washed the walls of the purple room, counting the days til we went on summer vacation, arguing over the lyrics to Maroon 5's "In Your Pocket" until you conceded that I was right. I remember blasting Nick Jonas's "Jealous" during my workout and you saying I'd never make any progress listening to that sissy ass music. And I regret. I regret every petty argument we ever had. I regret every night I spent fussing over Amira, sleeping with her cuddled in my arms instead of allowing myself to be cuddled in yours. I regret every time I rolled my eyes at one of your lectures, every time I bolted instead of sticking around to listen, and I even regret you not being here to cash in on the threesome I promised you, if "by some miracle, we actually manage to make it ten years".
You only had one year to go.
If you were here, this is what I'd tell you:
The Bears started the season 0-3 but then Cutler got hurt and they finally got their first win with Brian Hoyer at QB. Let's see how long this lasts.
Scream Queens is back and I have two words for you: CHAD RADWELL!
We went to Veganmania this year, Mira, your mom and I. It sucked without you there with us and by the time we got home, I had to send Amira upstairs and workout for an hour so I could try and forget how it used to be.
I replay every argument, every fucked up thing I ever said to you. I remember, I regret, and though I know it isn't possible, I pray to God to give us a do over. One last chance to get it right. I live in a world of regrets now and wherever you are, I know you're putting yourself through the same kind of self-flagellation. But we did the best we could, babe. We tried our best. We thought there'd always be a tomorrow to fix us. I hate that we were wrong.
I didn't go to therapy yesterday. I'd made it all the way to Belmont by the time Dr. Green called, apologetic and more than a little embarrassed at getting her days confused and double-booking me with another patient. She offered to see me later that evening, to conduct a phone appointment, to reschedule our appointment for today instead but I declined each offer.
'It's OK, really, it's no problem.' I assured her.
'I feel awful' she replied, 'Are you sure next week is okay?'
'It's fine, don't worry, I had a really good week' I lied, before confirming our next appointment and getting off the phone.
Telling Dr. Green I'd had a really good week was a lie, not because I had a bad week but because I barely have any recollection of the previous week at all. Amira had a stomach bug for a couple of days, and I read some great new books but other than that...each day blurs into the next.
After we got off the phone I ducked into the midday quiet of Native Foods where I got the twister wrap (it's not EXACTLY a salad) and made myself eat half of it before leaving. I made it all the way back to the train station before I let myself fall. I'm good at home, that's where I have to be good because I have a child for whom I have to hold it together. I'm good at school, at the playground with Peirce friends, and I'm good at Mira's swim and dance classes. But on the train, alone, I listen to the songs that you and I could agree on and I let myself fall. I listen to the soundtrack of our relationship. Maroon 5, Adele, The Weekend, Bruno Mars. I listen to music you used to laugh at me for loving. Katy Perry, Nick Jonas, Arianna Grande. And I remember. I remember the time we washed the walls of the purple room, counting the days til we went on summer vacation, arguing over the lyrics to Maroon 5's "In Your Pocket" until you conceded that I was right. I remember blasting Nick Jonas's "Jealous" during my workout and you saying I'd never make any progress listening to that sissy ass music. And I regret. I regret every petty argument we ever had. I regret every night I spent fussing over Amira, sleeping with her cuddled in my arms instead of allowing myself to be cuddled in yours. I regret every time I rolled my eyes at one of your lectures, every time I bolted instead of sticking around to listen, and I even regret you not being here to cash in on the threesome I promised you, if "by some miracle, we actually manage to make it ten years".
You only had one year to go.
If you were here, this is what I'd tell you:
The Bears started the season 0-3 but then Cutler got hurt and they finally got their first win with Brian Hoyer at QB. Let's see how long this lasts.
Scream Queens is back and I have two words for you: CHAD RADWELL!
We went to Veganmania this year, Mira, your mom and I. It sucked without you there with us and by the time we got home, I had to send Amira upstairs and workout for an hour so I could try and forget how it used to be.
I replay every argument, every fucked up thing I ever said to you. I remember, I regret, and though I know it isn't possible, I pray to God to give us a do over. One last chance to get it right. I live in a world of regrets now and wherever you are, I know you're putting yourself through the same kind of self-flagellation. But we did the best we could, babe. We tried our best. We thought there'd always be a tomorrow to fix us. I hate that we were wrong.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)