Wasn’t I just here? Geez.

I’m off my feed. Which is ridiculous, because shouldn’t humans simply eat when they’re hungry with a focus on balanced nutrition? Seems that’s not enough for some of us.

I’ve said it before – I should weight 98 pounds because of the bird-like eating spells I experience. I’ve been so run-down of late; yesterday it was to the point of bad parenting. I let Clara Jane watch TV while I half-dozed on the couch, and then I let her play video games while I half-dozed on the bed beside her. In other words, she spent most of the day with half a parent.

This probably had something to do with the fact that the sum total of my food from the time I woke up until I had dinner at 6 PM was coffee and a bowl of black beans.

I still have my blood glucose meter from the diabetes/hypoglycemia scare I had last year. Perhaps I should bust it out again and see if I’m giving myself a disease. Again. (She says as she takes a sip from her third cup of coffee with Splenda and skim milk.)

You know what I think my problem is? I’m just sick of food. Nothing sounds good. It’s too hot and humid to eat. I want to live on cantaloupe. No, I’m not pregnant. I think I’m just in overload mode. For awhile, I was doing so much writing about food for the food blog (which hasn’t been totally abandonded; I’ve got to get past this food aversion before I can get back to it, though. If I were to purse it now, it would be nothing but daily posts that read, “Figure out your own damn dinner. I don’t care. I’m just going to eat this bowl of cucumbers, onions, and Greek olives.” Which is pretty piss-poor food writing.) and for wellfed.net that I think I burned out. This used to happen when I was catering. The bigger the job, the less I would eat until I’d just drop.

It’s funny. To look at me you’d probably assume I’m the kind of person who does nothing but eat. You’d be wrong. However, if you assumed that I’m the kind of person who likes the air conditioner set to meat cooler levels, you’d be right. The point I’m making is it’s not smart to make assumptions, especially about the fat girl because she’s bigger than you and you probably know it’s not wise to poke bears, right?

Wow. Not sure where that came from.

Anyway, I’ve eaten this morning and I feel better than I generally do at 11 AM. Usually at this time I’ve had coffee and vitriol. Today, I’ve had a greasy bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on ciabatta, and a little slice of aged cheddar while I made Clara Jane’s lunch for school. I feel like I can write stream-of-conscious because I actually have a stream of conscious, instead of a skull filled with misfiring neurons.

A lot of this month’s daily posts are likely to be stream-of-conscious, since I’m trying to use these for a bigger purpose. In the past when I’ve gotten stuck in my writing endeavors I’ve turned to the ideas of Natalie Goldberg, particularly her book Wild Mind: Living the Writer’s Life, which gives prompts for timed writing exercises. I have no idea where my copy of the book is; considering I bought it about 15 years ago it’s probably particles of dust floating around my house by now. I used it so much, though, that the basic idea has stuck with me – in order to write well, one must first write. A lot. And one must write through the piles of crap that litter one’s mind.

Welcome to the Crap Pile, dear readers! Now, who’s going to bring me a salad?