Only In My Dreams

Woke up this morning feeling guilty and sore, and a little scared. I dreamt that I was eating everything in sight. Crackers with butter spread thickly on them. Cubes of cheese. Chocolate. I don’t know what else. When I woke up and told Taco what I’d been dreaming, he said, Did it feel good?

The answer is no. No, it sure did not. It felt like the dreams I had when I first quit smoking. The dreams in which suddenly I would realise I had a lit cigarette in my hand. The dreams in which I would think, oh well, I’m smoking, I might as well smoke the whole pack.

That’s what this dream was like. I watched myself smear every possible kind of food with butter, and I thought, I shouldn’t eat this, but oh well, the damage is done, we’ll just consider this a high calorie day.

Uh, yeah. High calorie. Rocky mountain high.

I must give myself a shake.

I have a few ideas, regarding the genesis of this dream and its attendant feelings.

One night this week, I ate to the point of feeling a little bit stuffed. Not stuffed the way I used to, but the beginning of that kind of stuffed. I am stressed out this week…well, I think I’m stressed out in a kind of long term way, actually. Work is kind of…intense lately. And then there’s the whole grief thing, which is kind of…intense lately. And then there’s money, which, I mean, come ON. Intense. And trying to figure out a way to not work for the man anymore…yeah, I’m a little stressed. Add to that the care that’s required to plan a life in which there is no wheat, yeast, sugar, dairy or fermented foods and frankly, it’s remarkable I haven’t landed face down in a giant chocolate peanut butter cup by now.

I mean, really.

OK, though. The thing is, I noted the feeling of stuffed-ness. I noted not really liking the feeling. I further noted that I recall very clearly ALWAYS feeling that way. How awful. (I must tell you more about this, the way I was for years and years, feeling like I was getting away with something. Feeling like if I didn’t mention it and if no one I knew mentioned it, then I probably wasn’t that fat, and I could probably still continue to eat way past the point of satiety, especially if the food was mostly healthy. And that somehow eating french fries EVERY. SINGLE. DAY some weeks was an ok way to be. Alright if I tell you later? I’m on to something else just at the moment.) And so I’ve had to be a little parental with myself this week. Because the stress and the intensity are making me want to take something off my plate…which is really a funny phrase, because instead, it’s having the opposite effect. It makes me want to put seconds on my plate. Which is also funny, because I had no idea that I ate when stressed, except now I’m remembering that last winter when I was really unhappy in Winnipeg, I was eating about a Mars bar a day. Damn, Mars bars are good. But jesus, every day? Yeah, every day.

Sorry, this is a little bit all over the place. But what I mean to say is this: last night, I made an extremely delicious dinner of eggplant parmesan with homemade sauce, kamut pasta with parsley and goat parmesan, and a whopping green salad. I had eggplant and pasta and totally enjoyed it. And then I said to Taco, that was really good. I’d like to have more, but I think I’m getting full, and I want salad too. I can have more eggplant tomorrow, right? I can take it for lunch. I don’t need to eat it now. And he nodded, not that he needed to. I wasn’t talking to him. I was talking to myself. And it makes me a little sad, frankly, that at the advanced age of 34 I must sometimes treat myself like a child.

But if that’s what’s required, that’s what I’ll do.

Because here are some good things:
* I went and joined that new gym near my house and promptly took Mean and Crazy’s latin cardio class, and it was HARD, but I was able to keep up, which means I’m fitter than I was last time I took one of those classes, a month or two ago.
* Last week, in Winnipeg, I started running. On the treadmill. Not very fast and not for very long, but still, running. Without stopping. For 15 minutes.
* Though the search for jeans at the Gap was unsuccessful (turns out their jeans fit a little smaller than their pants, so I’m projecting another month, maybe six weeks till I can get a pair of those), I ended up with an amazing dress for the wedding, and looked and felt fantastic.
* When my mom and sister came to pick me up at the airport, my sister’s face lit up when she saw me. “You look so good!” she practically shouted. She seemed really proud, and that was pretty cool.
* Pants I bought in October 2003 in New York, and which were a little snug then, and which I probably haven’t worn more than once since because of that, are rather loose now. I wore them yesterday and felt strange, in a good way.

We’re off to Sydney tonight, where everything is made of meat and potatoes and then deepfried. Needless to say, we’re taking a cooler full of fruits and veggies. And it’s only for two days. There’s a big music festival up there, and Taco’s got a showcase in the middle of the night. I must go play the easy part of the extremely proud girlfriend while he wows the 3am crowd with his smart, sweet songs. Can’t wait.