I thought we were supposed to fall forward rather than fall back with regard to the time change this past weekend so I woke up around 5 a.m. Sunday morning, switched my clocks forward to 6 am, thinking all the while it's time to get up. Then I went through this conversation in my head about falling forward or springing back or springing forward and falling back. Falling backward must have something to do with aging. I remembered the NPR guy saying we got an extra hour of sleep and I was trying to understand where that extra hour was going to fit in with all my clocks marked at 6 am instead of 5 am. It's kind of amazing how quickly things can go downhill with one person in charge (me, changing my clocks for instance). Then I turned on my cell phone clock (which is really all I use the phone for - to get the correct time) and my cell clock read 4:17 am so my little argument was settled. I'd already lost sleep changing time.
I made my coffee (no sense in being awake that early without a cup of coffee), adding a half scoop of protein powder mixed with soy creamer. When the coffee was prepared, I grabbed a really disgusting biscotti that I'd made the night before. By 'disgusting' I mean not twice-baked or even close to a traditional biscotti texture. More like a really chewy sea sponge (of which I've eaten so many which is why I know the texture). I like something scone-y with my coffee. It's not a habit or ritual though I'm in search of something I can bake that I can add protein powder to that resembles a breakfasty food that's still relatively healthy.
Then I went back to sleep for an extra hour with Bella laying on my chest. I dreamed I was having heart failure.
Some people have asked me if I have given up on food -- some foods d/won't work any longer -- like the tiny bite of pumpkin ice cream I tried. It was rich and sweet - I had to spit it out. (Blasphemy!) I gave some to the dog instead (so she can have weight problems and become a diabetic). The biscotti was made of pumpkin and had no fat other than the fat inside of two eggs. I got the recipe from foodgawker (one of my fave places to visit online). Since the surgery, my baking skills have plummeted. I can prepare a soup or main dish though prior to surgery I was Bitchin Betty Baker. Since surgery I have failed baking miserably. I'm not all that worried about this loss of baking talent though because I can always buy someone else's biscotti though someone else's biscotti won't have the same ingredients I might want to eat (such as sea sponge mixed with pumpkin). I have to find something else to do that baking supplied -- I mean, other than eating what I baked. I haven't a clue what being able to bake other than to eat the edibles. Though it seems there must be some pleasure derived from the art of baking other than what people think baking does which is to add pounds of chub to your butt and more chin rolls or in some cases keep a person alive. I heard that some of the Donner parties first words when they reached rescuers was the word 'bread.'
I went to dinner with a friend about a week ago. I ordered one small shrimp "crepas" which is basically a shrimp crepe. The crepas arrived at the table covered in a yellowish sauce, about 3.5 inches, (ah, memories of my last relationship). I was able to eat the meal using a few chips as my spoon over the course of a couple of hours along with a watered down margarita. I still enjoy myself because I enjoy the company I'm with along with the novelty of eating dinner out. I enjoy the ambiance - it's a different experience. Before weight loss surgery, I would say that I was treating myself. I'd go out, order a liter of margaritas and drink two of them with a full plate of some sort of grub. In the past the more inebriated I became during dinner, the more food I would shove in. I was unconscious. Then dessert, and I was usually so crocked from the booze that I could eat a bunch of chips (spoons!) with my dessert too. This body part I have for a stomach will not allow that kind of behavior any longer. Plus my brain can't handle the booze obviously if when I drink, I go insane and eat.
One of the really special things about gastric bypass surgery is that you have a honeymoon period of several months post surgery where you don't care about eating at all. A period of time when you really have to force yourself to eat nutritionally. I just finished reading a book about a woman who had some problems with her surgery and then her first meal was some french fries and some fried pork which when she tried to eat it, but she got sick. You aren't supposed to eat those kinds of foods post-surgery though I'm far enough along my own post surgery that I know I could eat a few fries though eating fries could cost me some hours in the bathroom the next day. Rich foods, greasy foods cause these issues for me. (Thank hay zeus!) I would still call myself a foodie. I'm just not much of a baker any more and that is probably fine. Maybe the baking thing was removed. It's a side effect of the surgery that no one has discovered but me.
Now that the season of eating is upon us -- (Season's Eatings!) this will be my first holiday season without gorging on turkey, gravy and broccoli casserole or even eating more than a bite of pie. White bread dinner rolls - the kind you find the night before Thanksgiving in huge stacks by the store cash register as if those store managers on are on to something and white bread is a real food. Are you kidding me. Stuffing? With stuffing, I could maybe eat two tablespoons which would become my entire meal. I will not be consumed with thinking (I will be consumed with writing about it) how much food I can fit on my plate, what I can bake to contribute, or if I should bring home any leftovers. In fact, I'll be lucky if I am invited to anyone's Thanksgiving dinner at all. I used to warn my son Danny about people who didn't get invited to Thanksgiving dinners. I said, "That's a red flag." I mean, there's a reason certain people don't get invited to Thanksgiving dinner though you don't usually discover that reason until you've invited them because you felt sorry for them because here it was Thanksgiving and they had no place to go. Then they drink their first drink and go out to the deck, pretending to jump off and laugh about it. Then they got stoned and started talking about how when they were at Burning Man, they got run over by a car while they were asleep inside their tent and that is why they have a huge dent in the side of their head and they walk, listing to one side. Finally, they do your dishes so it's almost worth having invited them because they do a pretty good job on the dishes. Still, a red flag.
Like I've written in past posts, my mind has not caught up with my body. I see people that I haven't seen in awhile and they are shocked (or maybe it is me who's shocked at them) at how "great you look" though when I look down, I still see me. It is the same me that I have been and will be. In the mirror though, I see a more wrinkles (on my face) though that would have happened regardless. At night, saggy butt-skin pools beneath me as I lay me down to sleep. I don't care about a buttpool though. I'd rather have a buttpool than a butt filled with fat. I've experienced one, now I want to experience the other. At least a buttpool is somewhat pliable. A person can move their buttpool around for extra comfort, warmth. Maybe there will come a day when I gather my buttpool about me and stomp off in a huff. Maybe buttpools will become fashionable. One day I'll be in and the next day I'll be out. I've heard people say that they don't want to have weight loss surgery because they are worried about the extra skin though I have not heard those with extra skin (filled with chubbiness) say they are worried about their extra skin filled with chubbiness. What kind of strange excuse is extra skin when you're over 300 pounds? It's like my mind isn't the only mind that has not caught up with my body.
My brain quickly registers a loss when I'm putting on smaller clothing though that consciousness doesn't last but a moment. If it weren't for my sister insisting I wear smaller pants, and buying me those pants, I'd still be wearing bigger pants. But with this loss, a new found ease of movement that I don't remember feeling in this lifetime mostly because when I could move back in the days of yore, I was not appreciative, nor was I really conscious about movement. I took the ability to move for granted. The difference between then and now is like being lifted off the ground. It is a sense of freedom that can't really be achieved through smaller pants or a tiny meal (though a tiny meal is pretty cool.) Freedom is less pain in my knees and my hip -- less emotional suffering. The increased mobility I wanted and hoped for through the surgery has occurred (so maybe I wasn't such a bad person in my first life) (and at least I didn't suffer under the wheel of a vehicle at Burning Man in this life, yet). The idea of having increased mobility going forward, of being more physically capable (while still mentally capable - crossed fingers) is a huge blessing, one I hope not to take for granted. Let me move until I fall back. I guess you could say I've reached a bearable lightness of being and I am pretty happy about that.