I’m so hungry.
Food is all I can think about. I crave peanut butter mostly. For those who don’t know, peanut butter is my entire identity. I live off peanut butter.
But recently I started a new diet. So, no more peanut butter. Just carrots and salad.
God, I hate carrots and salad.
The diet has one mantra much like Rob Lowe’s mantra on “Parks and Recreation” when his character Chris Traeger is sick with the flu and can’t stop using the bathroom.
Chris Traeger says, “Stop. Pooping.”
I say, “Stop. Eating.”
It’s not literally “stop eating” because I would die, but, compared to how much I normally eat, its practically nothing.
I can eat a lot. I’ll be the first to admit it.
I have a weird relationship with food as most Americans do, as most diabetics do. I’m not sure when it started but I’ve always had an appetite that can only be described as a bottomless pit.
That’s wrong. I know when it started.
When I was younger, my grandma would make tacos for all her grandchildren. They were, are, and forever will be the best tacos I’ve ever tasted. If you think you’ve had a better taco, know that you’re wrong and you aren’t welcome at the Demuth family kids table.
Us grandchildren loved grandma’s tacos, especially the boys. We loved them so much we turned taco night with grandma into a taco eating contest. I was undefeated back then and don’t let my cousins tell you otherwise.
It got out of hand and we don’t do the taco eating contests anymore. Mostly because, as he grew up, our younger cousin became a literal taco eating black hole. It wasn’t even fair. I eventually lost to him many times and had to give up my throne. But also, because it was unhealthy and my grandma would work tirelessly making way too many tacos for us.
We still have taco nights on occasion, just not the contests.
But I’m not blaming my grandma for my large appetite. I love my grandma and I wouldn’t trade our taco nights for the world.
I blame my own stubborn, competitive nature.
My competitiveness instilled in me an opposition to being full.
And I’m rarely full. Even when I say I’m full, I know I could eat more if I really wanted to.
I’m a glutton. That’s my vice.
But not always. Right now, I’m trying to eat less and it’s not the first time I’ve done this. I have occasional spurts of healthy eating that can last anywhere from a few weeks to entire years. I realize that I tend to fall back to unhealthy eating habits when there’s a drastic change happening in my life. I eventually get accustomed to this change and go back to eating healthy.
This inconsistent rollercoaster of a diet has affected my weight drastically. During my adult life, my weight has ranged from 170 pounds to 250 pounds. That’s an 80-pound weight difference. And the change between these two weights wasn’t a one-time thing. I’ve gone through that weight transition 3 or 4 times both ways, all at different transitions in my life.
My sporadic weight change rivals that of Christian Bale. People praise Christian Bale for his commitment to lose and gain weight for a movie role. His biggest weight change was going from American Psycho (180 pounds) to The Machinist (120 pounds) to Batman Begins (220 pounds). I’m already doing that with my own mental health and unintentional eating habits.
And I’m not getting paid millions of dollars for it.
I think I should be paid millions of dollars for it.
I’m not sure what this is supposed to be.
Is there a metaphor here somewhere?
Some sappy, cliché motivational jargon.
“You don’t need a million dollars. You could change yourself if you really wanted to. Not just with your weight. With anything. Anybody can do it. Even you.”
I hate that. That’s the literal worst. Let’s stop that right now.
I don’t know what this is.
I’m just really really hungry.
Excuse me while I go eat more carrots and salad.