Thursday, July 18, 2013

With all our talk about salads last week, you may have suspected my elevated intake of greens has rendered me inert, mute and weak and incapable of writing. This frankly hasn’t been the case. On Tuesday evening at 10:38 PM, I opened the Word doc, per our usual custom, but found it impossible to give a shit. I resolved right then and there to start the process earlier in the evening, which brings us to tonight, when I cracked open the doc at 9:12 PM, and then promptly ignored it until 12:23 PM. This time, however, I do give a care.

I’ve yoked this same iron will, too, to my lunch habits, which is to say I haven’t consumed any salads yet this week–not a goddamn one–and yet I’m somehow lighter. Perhaps it’s more a question of what I’ve avoided. You know: burgers, pizza, fries, Crisco straight from the jar. I read somewhere that craving a foodstuff is a chemically engineered experience. Makes sense, I guess. You don’t crave an apple, or beans, or a banana, and I’ve been trying to buy those things, accordingly. I even procured a pineapple from the supermarket today because fruit, I’m led to believe, is nature’s candy.

Salads are still viable, of course. I was this close to ordering a Cobb on Tuesday, until a limited edition (grilled) buffalo chicken sandwich derailed me. The Cobb has always felt like a gateway salad, you know? I mean, it’s slathered in eggs, blue cheese, chicken, and bacon, for crying out loud. I’ve got to be able to swing that, at the very least. What else is left and, more importantly, sustainable? I’m not doing that thing where you drink honey and pepper for, like, three hundred days. Perhaps I should honor my heritage and turn to secret remedies from the Orient, like powdered jellyfish dong or what have you. Paleo’s completely off the table, based on my inability to enjoy a dish that looks and tastes like something a raptor shit into a bag.