I can't sleep…
Head Cold. Nasal drip. Nagging cough. Light nausea. Friday the 13th. Feels about right.
6:10 am. Cove Island Park. 192 days. Consecutive, and getting long in the tooth.
45° F. Wind gusts up to 25 mph. Drizzle. Wet. Cold.
Cloud cover: 100%. Like a million %.
M-G: You’re dragging.
DK: It’s that obvious?
M-G: Snarky too.
M-G: COVID?
DK: Can’t be.
M-G: How’s that?
DK: Hood Brand Ice Cream Sandwiches.
M-G: Ice Cream Sandwiches? Continue reading “Walking. With M-G.”
4:30 am.
I shake off the cob webs from Tylenol PM.
Read morning papers, blog posts, skim social media.
Read another chapter of Christopher Beha’s “The Index of Self-Destructive Acts.”
Think about my index, and yesterday’s destructive acts. Guzzled two (or was it three?) bottles of Diet Snapple Peach Tea. Sugar Free. No preservatives. Turn the bottle to read the label. Aspartame, sodium, citric acid, potassium citrate, malic acid. Natural, my a**.
And then Nachos. Potato Chips. Three donuts. And, a large (large) number of Hershey’s Nuggets…like on a conveyor belt, I love Lucy and the Chocolate Factory. Oh, that milk chocolate sugar high.
C.S. Lewis said “Life (or Sugar), is as habit forming as cocaine. What then?” What then? What now?
I pause before weigh-in. Regret the Self-Destructive Acts. Inhale. Hope. I ease onto the scale, like tip-toeing is going to pare back a pound or two. A**holes believe that it will move down after yesterday’s performance. Disgusting. Disgusted.
I check the weather app. Think about how many layers I need. Should be one less with the extra layer of glazed donuts. Whale blubber is said to taste like arrowroot biscuits or Stop & Shop Cake donuts.
57° F, but breezy. No jacket. Tee-shirt. Long sleeved sweater. Camera gear. I walk by the island in the kitchen. 3 donuts left. Don’t you dare. Don’t even think about it. My mouth waters. My God, I have issues.
5:30 am.
I’m out the door.
152 consecutive days.
5 mile loop to Cove Island Park and back.
~10,000 steps…
600 calories…
Or approx 3 glazed donuts.
Think of the actual physical elements that compose our bodies: we are 98 percent hydrogen and oxygen and carbon. That’s table sugar. You are made of the same stuff as table sugar.
Just a couple of tiny differences here and there and look what happened to the sugar: it can stand upright and send tweets.
~ Augusten Burroughs, This Is How: Surviving What You Think You Can’t
Notes: Sugar Photo credit. Quote via quotespile
I open my eyes. 5:35 a.m. I close my eyes, and take inventory.
Right groin, an old catcher’s mitt, stiff, cracks in the leather.
Knees, throb.
Three middle toes on right foot, blistered. Raw.
This is about where Tanya Donelly would say: “But you can change your story / And throw a hand up from the mud.”
But that’s not how we roll here. No Tanya. No.
This story (or catalyst) starts Wednesday after dinner. The 7 pm to 8:30 pm witching hour(s). The Big Cat starts to pace, and circle. I want it. I need it. I crave it.
After taking inventory in the fridge, the cupboards, the pantry, none of the required provisions are available. I jump into the car and head to Palmer’s Market. Talenti Mint Chocolate Chip Gelato. (4 Pints). Nacho Cheese Doritos (Extra Large Bag). Chobani Fruit on the Bottom Yogurt, Pineapple flavored. Stonewall Kitchen Sour Cherry Jam (to chase the Yogurt). And, then, in the glass case: Donuts. Strawberry Jelly filled donuts.
The belt pulls the items towards the clerk. “Good evening Sir. Do you have a Palmer’s Card?” A wee bit of junk food with Dinner, Sir? “Sir, I don’t see a 2 pound bag of Domino Premium Pure Cane Granulated Sugar here. Shall I run and get it for you? And, Sir, in Aisle 3, we have hypodermic needles and rubber hose tie-offs. Step behind the counter here with me, and I’ll inject it for you, it will only take a minute. Continue reading “Running. With Jelly Donuts.”
It’s that time again. An updated inventory of Addictions.
And so here we are.
Dallas, TX. Hotel. Wednesday evening.
I open the Jabra Elite Active 65t Wireless Earbuds charging case to find the right earbud missing. Major problem. Continue reading “Flying North N.E. AA1263. Add, yet another addiction.”