I can’t seem to focus. Maybe the bitter cold weather this week has frozen my brain cells like the unhappy atrophying cactus outside my front door that I forgot to cover when it dropped to 12 degrees the other night. Maybe it’s my leftover uneasiness of 2016, lingering into the New Year. Or maybe I’m just woogy from my new diet. Yes, I’m ashamed to admit it but I’ve become one of those people.
For decades, just on principle alone, I refused to ever go on a clichéd January 1st diet. Could anything be more trite? I truly hate being as predictably hackneyed as Wyle E Coyote’s backfiring Road Runner nabbing schemes or someone inevitably slapping one those useless decorative elastic skull-gouging thingies onto a newborn girl’s head before taking a photo or somebody yelling ‘Freebird’ at absolutely any rock concert. I don’t wanna be THAT guy.
New year, new diet, oy vay. I used to laugh at all the folks in the gym that would magically appear on January 2nd and be long gone by mid-February. Of course, that is when I was going to a gym almost every day. Maybe if I was still going to the gym at least once almost every decade, I wouldn’t need to go on this banal New Year’s Diet.
I guess I should embrace it. At least finally I am now like everyone else. For the first time in my life, due to six months of sloth-like laziness and recklessly bad eating habits, I finally fit in with the masses. Every yearbook I have had since 6th grade is filled with comments like ‘you’re so different but…’, ‘you’re so weird but…’, ‘you’re so crazy but…’ and sometimes just ‘you’re so different, weird and crazy…’ without even the backhanded complementary ‘but’.
Well, look at me now. I’m not different at all. I’m like a gazillion other resolution starvers all going cross-eyed loopy on a New Year’s Diet. All the extra cops that spent New Year’s Eve nailing drunks, should stay on the roads this week to stop the grumpy hungry woozy dieters from road raging each other to death. I know it’s making me nutty. I’m obsessing about the food I am not eating and it’s messing with my noggin.
I tried to distract myself by watching one of the 6,783 college football bowl games, but it seemed like every ad featured close-ups of gooey bubbling pizza, seared juicy burgers, frothy beers and my true weakness, crispy salty potato chips. With all the frustratingly tempting food commercials, I turned off the tube deciding the hunger pains made it not worth watching Shimer College vs. Deep Springs U ‘Puritan’s Pride Doctor’s Best Sustained & Immediate Release L-Arginine Anti-Erectile Dysfunction Bowl’.
I am all out of sorts. I hate the beginning of a diet. It’s hard to write something witty here when all I can do is think about food. I feel like I have gone cold turkey off anything with flavor and my stomach is growling like two feral cats in a hefty bag fighting over a fish bone. I’m going crazy like an alcoholic that has not even scored his first 24-hour chip. MMMM chips. That sounds good. Those spicy Kettle ones are great. But you know the English call French Fries ‘chips’. I guess they do not want to use the word ‘French’ to describe something they like. But yeah English style chips with a curry sauce sounds really good right now. Well actually, might as well make it Fish and Chips with malt vinegar, a Guinness and… awwwww CRAP.. my brain is food drifting again.
I need a distraction. I’ll go put some laundry in the washer. Clothing won’t make me think about food. You can’t eat clothes. Well, I guess they do make those kinky edible underwear. Does anyone actually buy those besides for a gag gift? Do they come in different sizes? I mean, they are made of sugary candy; is there a diabetes warning on the 3X size? I guess they could make sugar-free edible undies Too bad the name ‘Sweet And Low’ is already taken. I guess matching edible socks would be a different fetish.
Ahhh, I’m going so kookoo here. I’ve linked laundry to snacks. Chores have nothing to do with food unless it’s cleaning out the refrigerator. I gotta get out of the house to take my mind off my grumbling gut. I could go clean out the gutters, that nasty rotting mess in there will help me forget about food. And I certainly won’t be like everyone else. Who else is insane enough to climb up a metal ladder in 19-degree weather New Year’s Day to clean out the decaying leaf soufflé rising under my eaves. Now what can I do to spoil my appetite the rest of the year?