Smells like caramel.

Man, being on a diet while being stuck in bed most of the day SUCKS. Alls I do is lay there thinking about where the hidden food in my house is. That Snickers in the liquor cabinet. That chocolate orange I bought for Jeff that's still in his stocking still hanging on the living room wall because we don't have a chimney. That bag of dark chocolate Doves that I bought in Halloween Clearance and stuck in the freezer by justifying to myself that "if you only eat one a day, that's not so bad!" Yeah right.

Food hoarding came to me honestly since my mom was a mega superstar at it. As a fat little tyke, all I had to do was ram my stubby little hand down into the bottom of my mom's giant purse to hit a sugary payload. At the very least, there would be the "emergency" roll of lifesavers that was meant to save her life in case her blood sugar went too low. But to me, it just meant mom always had candy. Her stash of Whitmans or chocolate-covered cherries in her closet...her bag of cherry sours in her sock drawer...or even the chick-o-stick hiding in the recliner side pocket. This habit certainly didn't start with me...NOT that it's any excuse. My mom isn't exactly the person I wanna model my healthy habits after. I sure do love her, but healthy, she was not.

I was talking to Dina (remember her??) the other day about how my job offers 28 days of in-house rehabilitation if necessary. If only I could afford to take 28 days off! Taking off 3 weeks for my foot nearly made me homeless, so adding a month to it isn't really an option. I'm only now getting to the stage in my life where I realize my struggles with food are more than just "hey, I like food, lay off!" It IS an addiction. No normal person lays in bed wondering if it's worth limping 40 steps on a broken foot to steal someone else's christmas chocolate.

Still, I struggle with the notion. It makes me feel weak. Hi, my name is Tricia and I really like cake. No, I mean really. (Altogether now: HI TRICIA.)

I always thought I could turn it off. I remember a specific incident from my childhood pretty vividly when I think about how far I let myself go. My mom and I were at KFC (shocker) on a Sunday morning after church. A rather large lady walked in and started ordering food. I remember staring at her, which now I realize was a shitty thing to do, but at the time I think I was just summing it up. My mom must have seen me staring because when I got back to the table, she said "that could be you one day, you know?" Pfft. I very matter-of-factly told her, through the wisdom of all my eight years on earth so far, that i would NEVER let it get that far, and that I had every intention of getting thin as a teenager like my sisters did. Here I sit probably a good 50 pounds heavier than that lady was that day and wondering why even the torture of a fat adolescence was never enough to make me stop.

I know it's easy when you're doing well to say "Just do it. Stop whining and just do it." I say it myself when I'm reading blogs while I'm tearing ass. I don't know why that little switch in my brain hasn't flipped yet. The one that says "hey, do you wanna die today? If not, then let's do this..." Maybe it's buried under a pile of Almond Joys or something.

I wish it would just fucking flip already. But like my dad always says, "wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one gets full faster." In case you're wondering, it's the shit hand. All my good intentions are the shittiest diet ever so I guess I should just figure out what I'm gonna do and fucking do it.

I ate a Twix bar as I wrote this post...can you smell the hypocrisy? Also, that chocolate orange didn't stand a chance.

P.S. If you're gonna comment, don't try to go all tough-love on me. It only reminds me of my dad and makes me kinda hate you. I can hate myself enough for both of us, thank you very kindly.