Effing Moderation / Don’t Play With Your Food

I’ve been playing with my food, and it’s not been working out so great.  The latest “clean eating” fad here, which held so much promise when I started, has not been helping.  On any level.   Meaning it’s part of the problem, not the solution, for me.  Meaning, it’s bringing me further from myself not closer.  Meaning, I’ve been a grouchy, sensitive, hair-triggered biatch.  Meaning me need carbs and sugar.  Now.  For the good of all.

And I’m reminded again how important it is for me to take care of myself around what I eat and around what I take in in general, my metaphorical food —  the other critical inputs — sleep, exercise, who I surround myself with, what I watch, read, focus on, where I spend my time, the rest time I allow myself and the exertion time I allow myself, the who, what, where, and hows of how I spend, how I inhabit and ingest, this precious, short, life.

It’s so odd that I would not wear a certain shade of lipstick (or any lipstick) or an article of clothing because you told me it would make me look better, but I am willing to and have been willing to mess with my food because some 2% body fat person tells me it’s a good idea.  WTF.  

Michael Pollan has always had the best diet advice for me: 1) Eat food (real food, not chemicals), 2) Mostly Plants, 3) Not too much.  Something like that.  

Effing moderation.  I’m gonna keep going.  

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