Night 2: Two Cups

At 3:38 a.m. last night (or yesterday morning, whichever you prefer), I knew I passed my craving for the night. I looked into the fridge a few times, saw a leftover piece of cake from one of the Chinese bakeries we went to in Chinatown last Thursday, and was thinking about that. I sat at the computer and I thought about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. But I didn't bother with either. I conquered those cravings for one night.

Christ, I sound like a weight-loss success ad. I never wanted my attempt at weight loss to sound like that. But it was the first night, over at that point, and I felt good about it.

Now it's 3:01 a.m. and I've passed the second night. It was bad. I didn't think of Cheez-Its, but Meridith brought home a leftover Subway sub, and, well, right now I've forgotten what else, but I remember my mind being a demanding bitch. I stuck with two cups of tea. One was Twining's Lady Grey, and the other was Bigelow's Lemon Lift. I vowed to combat those cravings with tea and the tea was only a partial help. The rest was willpower.

So far, I've only eaten what I need to eat. Only something when I get up (which is lunchtime for others, but breakfast for me), and at dinner. No snacks. Not anymore. I've done too much of that.

I wish I could write better about this small achievement. But it's already 3:01 a.m. and there's a DVD I want to finish and send back to Netflix so I can get a new one by Friday. And I wish that I had done better the last time I tried to diet. If I had, a second night would have been so long ago in memory.

Night 1: Tea. Just Tea.

Dodged my cravings earlier. I went right to the fridge to see what was inside, but closed it and went back to the computer. I've got an empty tea mug here, and I think based on that, I should make more soon. I've lasted longer than I did last night. It's 10:31 p.m. now. I think it was around 9:20 or so last night when I gave up. I won't give up tonight.

Night 1: Failed Again

I've got to find the trigger in my head that leads me to the fridge and shut it down. It's possibly in front of the function that allows me to see the TV at the same time I'm working on the computer and still know what's going on. Or it might be behind the space where my book addiction lies.

This cannot go on. And it's bad enough that every time I fail and fall, I think to myself that I'll get it right tomorrow night. But tomorrow night might become last night all over again. And the cycle would continue. I hate the cycle.

More tea. One mugful isn't going to do it. If I think of what I know is in the fridge, then I need to think of the tea I could make. Cheez-Its, tea. Deli, tea. Almond cookies, tea. I broke that monotonous cycle many months ago. I have to break it into even more pieces this time, bury it where it can't possibly crawl back, and move on.

Right now, I'm not sure that writing is harder than dieting. Writing might actually be easier now.

Night 1: Back to Night 1 Tomorrow Night

Was good for nearly the entire evening. Had an in-head craving for Cheez-Its that didn't extend to any other body part, then the body got up and headed to the kitchen a little after the 11 p.m. news on ABC 7. Out came the box from the kitchen to the living room, then it led to a slice of swiss cheese from a plastic Kraft Deli Fresh package, and a bunch of other things I won't list here because personal shame has taken over now.

By the way, ham off the bone has a lot of noticeable sodium.

I'm almost tempted to return "The Omnivore's Dilemma" by Michael Pollan because of its food theme, but the book isn't the problem. The pages can't be eaten anyway. I've just got to get on this properly. Tomorrow night, I go back to compiling job listings for an online freelance writing newsletter, as I do every Sunday night through Thursday night for the following days, and tea is always helpful to break the occasional tedium. I used to think of the work as very tedious, but with research for that book sometimes even more tedious, I make sure to appreciate certain aspects of the newsletter, like how with each listing I find, I might be helping a freelance writer find a job they can do and make some decent money. I don't think of any of the subscribers to that newsletter as competition, since I don't do any copywriting, or technical writing, or translations or transcriptions. I want to work at an airport one day. That's all. So I consider every listing found to be a mini-mitzvah that contributes to a bigger mitzvah when the newsletter is done and there's sometimes 80+ listings. Even on the days when there's only 28-30 listings, I still feel good.

I didn't go for those Cheez-Its because I didn't have anything to do. I'm trying to finish reading "To Your Scattered Bodies Go" by Philip Jose Farmer, and of course, there's the book. There's a lot to do. It just happened. Now I have to stop it from happening again. The newsletter is work to do. I'll be sitting here for a few hours putting it together. I've been at this so long that I know what listings should go into the newsletter and I sometimes turn the "focused attention" part of my brain off, and think of other things. And I usually have headphones on, so I'm listening to either jazz or NPR programs or using Pandora at the same time I'm working.

Night by night again. I just have to take it night by night. I failed tonight, but tomorrow night's a chance to succeed. The motivation should be set like cement into my mind: This body is getting older, not staying young, and I can make my right knee feel better and shrink that around-the-world (or "love handles" or "Goodyear tire design" if you'd like) fat. For the benefit of my health, why should this be so hard? I can be healthier.

When I went to see Star Trek at the Edwards Valencia 12 the Saturday before last (May 16th), the people at the ticket counters were taking so long and it was nearly 1:30 p.m., which was when the next showing of Star Trek was to start. I knew I probably wouldn't get my favorite seat (first row before the floor, where you can put your feet up on that quarter-wall), but I still wanted to get in before the movie started.

Once my sister got the tickets, I tore them apart, separating Star Trek from "The Soloist," and giving her those tickets. The guy ripping tickets took mine, did, and I ran faster than I had in months. I deftly avoided clusters of people by planning a few seconds ahead on what I was going to do, and I veered at just the right second. I got into the theater, and was a little winded (which is yet another motivation to lose weight), but I was euphoric! I loved that feeling of going so fast, of speeding past the movie posters and video game machines like I had a thinner, much more flexible body. I wanted more of that. I could almost say that I don't know how in the hell I lost touch with that feeling, but it's when you're out of your daily routine, like seeing a movie, that you forget some of your habits. I just fell back into those which are not good for me. But to have that feeling again, to one day run that fast and not feel winded, to exercise more and feel really good not just in body but also in spirit, I'd like that.

Night by night this time. Tomorrow night, the first night again.

In Moderation

I'm trying to remember: Food in moderation. It's why I treat lunch at Philippe's in downtown Los Angeles like it's the holiest Jewish synagogue on Earth. It's why I never take any food home. No further lamb sandwiches, no slices of pie, no macaroni salad. After an exalted lunch there on Thursday, I bought only an impressively thick coffee mug with Philippe's printed on it and "1908-2008" below the name, heralding 100 years of business so far and hopefully forever.

That's forced moderation, though. We don't go to downtown Los Angeles often. We haven't been to Las Vegas in a while either. We haven't been back yet to that Asian buffet off the Strip that we all like, nor the Carnival World Buffet at the Rio, nor one of the Blueberry Hill family restaurants, one in a high-quality chain. They make everything with care.

The refrigerator is the major problem. Get enough deli in there, American, Muenster and string cheese, the occasional cake, some fruit (once in a while), leftovers (preferably spaghetti, because fettucine alfredo, my favorite, is always gone in one sitting at dinner), whatever my sister's brought home from working in the kitchen at my dad's school (sometimes small subs from Subway, ham or roast beef), and peanut butter (for the occasional sandwich), and gradually, day by day, there won't be a whole lot left in the fridge. Add yogurt to that list. I almost forgot yogurt, but I don't blast through that as often as I do the rest because cheap as yogurt is, it feels awkward to have at 1 or 2 a.m.

I know what I am: An overeater. Not a binger, so much. Ok, maybe a slow binger. A box of Cheez-Its doesn't become a flat box to put into the recycling bin in one night. There's a one-and-a-half quart container of Dreyer's Summer Peach Pie ice cream in the freezer. I wish it was at the supermarket for longer than the summer because Breyer's peach ice cream has peach pieces in the ice cream that taste more like ice than peach. The Summer Peach Pie flavor actually respects the peach pieces. They must adhere to some method that Breyer's doesn't know. That container won't be gone by tomorrow night, but I've already shaved off the top layer.

I don't know why I overeat, but I have a clear motivation for why I shouldn't, and I'd better start quick, lest I land in my father's territory. There's a history of diabetes in our family, but only if there's enough weight gained. My father got to that weight easily. He worked in the bakery his father managed when he got older and the overeating stuck. I don't want to end up with diabetes.

It's hard to scale my eating habits way back. I did it once a few months ago. It actually lasted for a long stretch of time, my right knee stopped hurting, and I could swing my arms at my sides without hitting flesh. The right side of me was more stubborn than the left, but there was very little there.

Now the knee's back to its occasional pain regimen and I hate the term "love handles," so I'll say that I'd better knock my weight down soon or Goodyear's going to examine me front and back for inspiration for a new tire design. It's not that bad yet, but I know it could get worse from this point.

I need to do this for another reason: I savor every visit to Philippe's. Even though Claim Jumper is overpriced now (even in this recession), I love getting a table at the right side of the restaurant where I can have a view of the freeway and the back of the major Stevenson Ranch shopping center. It's high up enough where you can see both, side by side. I sometimes see a security car driving at the back of the shopping center, near a dumpster and the loading docks, and I like to think about what the driver's like, if he likes the job, what he does on his days off. As for the freeway, where is everyone going? Are the big rigs only traveling within the state or are there a few from the east coast? I haven't thought of a short story or essay yet from watching all that, but I like letting my mind work out.

I love those experiences because I don't have them often. I mentioned this point early on in the entry, but I wanted to repeat it because of those visits to Claim Jumper.

I don't get the same feeling from the refrigerator anymore. I know there's cheese in there. Sometimes there's pie and I'm crazy for pie. Ginger ale, iced tea, sometimes root beer, I know where those are on the shelves inside the door.

I don't like it. Muenster cheese with tuna spread on it isn't as pleasureable as it might be if I wasn't going for it so often. I might even like deli even more if I wasn't so familiar with honey-baked ham versus ham off the bone. I want to enjoy all this again as much as when I go to Philippe's. I do have tea every day, going between Bigelow's Lemon Lift and Twining's Lady Grey, but it's a daily pleasure that's not the same as everyday binging. The Lemon Lift tea is comforting and the constant question I keep in mind when I drink the Lady Grey Tea is, "Will I catch that hint of orange in my mouth this time?" It's especially wonderful when the orange and lemon flavors intermingle.

The tea is part of my lifestyle, just like my near-obsessive reading habit, just like my obsessive movie habit. I wouldn't give that up. It's part of me. But the overeating shouldn't be. I need to stop now before I end up with a handheld device that tells me if my blood sugar is normal, and the fingerpricks to make that happen. I'm 25 now. Immortality isn't as assured as it was when I was a teenager. Back then, I didn't believe all of me was immortal, but maybe my body. It isn't. That mindset has to disappear. Today and in the following days and months, I need to gauge what I eat, when I eat, and how much I eat. I should eat only at lunch and dinner (I don't get up in time for breakfast), and when those daily cravings take over and constantly command my brain, only water and tea should prevail. For a few weeks now, I've been thinking that I should pay more attention to tea, drink more of it, read more about it. This would be a good time for that.

I need to make it work permanently this time.