But to lose all my senses, that's just so typically me.

[substitute]

Boy, if you have a problem with negativity in print you might want to avoid this thing for a while. I am entering the zone of the Grump that Passeth Understanding.

Tonight was Morons on Wheels in the O.C. Two people in the requisite gigantic SUV’s ran red lights and nearly freakin’ killed me. Then I saw a guy who had somehow driven his car at a good clip right into the center divider, where it was steaming and resting at a crazy angle on some pointy piece of city property as he and his buddy looked glum. In my current mood I just laughed and drove on. I probably should have helped.

Myself, I spent too much time today thinking about whether my new exciting metabolic disaster meant that my blood was eating me up from the inside, and also wondering if I would ever get to really enjoy food again or if I’d just have to treat it as medicine from now on. It’s a huge downer. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. When I think about it I get so angry I want to punch a hole in the wall and/or my head.

At this stage in my existence I have no love life or any reason to expect any, no career advancement likely, another chronic illness already making life somewhat more difficult and limiting and expensive, and no obvious way to change any of those things. I didn’t need this shit. One thing I had was food: I’m a good cook, I know a lot about food, I can prepare food for others and they enjoy it, I can match wine to food. It’s not just a cool hobby, it’s a way of expressing myself. This is probably over with now. What gets taken away next?

Personal inventory:

1. Chronic depression, somewhat treated, since 1986
   
   
2. 50 pounds overweight
   
   
3. No love life for the last whenever. Not much hope of any
   
   
4. Career stalled without any way of moving up
   
   
5. Metabolic syndrome/insulin resistance syndrome/diabetes Lite/diabetes/WHATEVER THE FUCK THEY CALL IT THIS WEEK
   
   
6. A fine set of well-polished, durable, self-destructive neuroses
   
   

I get up every day and live my life as best as I can, fixing little bits of broken crap here and there, and put a good face on it. Only because it’s expected of me by others. And I’m nothing if not obedient.

Comments

[effluvia.livejournal.com]

I'm not sure if you want a pep talk or commiseration or suggestions, but a couple of things came up when reading your post.

For one, the way to talk reverently about food and the way you cook, I have the distinct feeling that you'll be able to modify your cooking methods to support your new lifestyle. There are many cookbooks illustrating how to make delicious dishes while being conscious of various maladies. You could start there and, with your already developed talent in the kitchen, run with it. I live in Marin as you know, and people here have all sorts of nutritional needs. They eat very well, even though they have very rigid rules as to what they can and cannot have.

Also, I was depressed all throughout my childhood and teenager-hood. It was terrible and trying to survive--let alone thrive--was like trying to run a 10K race with a broken ankle. I tried a million things from friggin massage therapy to workshops to accupuncture. The thing that helped the most the fastest was Serzonne and finding a smart therapist whom I could trust. It's worked wonders, really.

I have no love life either. None. And suspect I never will.