Notes to self: Day 14/30.
We are almost halfway through and the Whole 30 just seems stupid. I don’t feel healthier or more energetic; I just feel self absorbed and bratty. I am sad and tired. I skipped a party because I knew there would be great beer there, and then I felt like a total drip, having to avoid people because their beer selection might make me cry.
Agony doesn’t make sense. I don’t require alcohol to loosen up and say inappropriate things at parties. And I feel so hungry, even though Whole 30’s only challenging restrictions are Diet Coke and alcohol. Meanwhile, Joe misses cheese, but is otherwise complacent and not losing his mind. He’s all I need to get some boards of wood to fix the fence. I’m all But what are we going to make for lunch tomorrow?
Crux of my problem:
On one hand, a kind, and reasonable person should make brownies for her kids because the kids aren’t on the Whole 30 and it’s better and cozier to offer them homemade GF crap than packaged GF crap. On the other hand, why offer children crap of any type? On the other hand, I could make the almond butter brownies that are a treat but not crap, but on the other other hand, then I’d get all bunched up about not being able to eat them—and I am already in such a delicate state—since they’re something I would eat in normal life, while the America’s Test Kitchen How Can it Be Gluten Free Fudgy Brownies are not going to call my name. [But I want cookies (these cookies). Screaming my name.]
On the other hand, what is wrong with me that I don’t make bone broth when it is obviously the missing piece of the puzzle that would make everything okay. On the other hand, that is the last thing I would ever, ever want to consume. On the other hand, my gluten free idol is pro-bone broth, so it must be good. On the other hand: gelatinous bone liquid, hot.
Meanwhile, world events. Clackety clackety clack.
My brain goes around and around and around pretty much all day. Two people I admire are simultaneously blog-going off their anti-anxiety medications. Could Diet Coke and gin be my anti-anxiety meds? And the point of messing with this fragile balance of brain chemicals would be…? Or is this a case of being easily influenced by the two admired people, like someone who comes home from a semester abroad with a British accent?
Catherine Newman said something about feeling sad in a boring way like a dial tone, and that is how I feel, but with worse hair and a coffee stain on my dress. Now add in nostalgia for dial tones and heavy phone talking-into pieces, and how they warm up and feel nice against your cheek.
On the bright side, here are some very good things to eat that I might want to remember for the future.
Salmon like this. ()
Spicy fish cakes. (Nom Nom Paleo)
Grilled Steak. (Gwyneth Paltrow)
And breakfast forever: