It’s ironic that I posted last week about losing my voice in a metaphorical sense. Or is it merely coincidental? In any event, the fates have conspired to relieve me of my literal voice for the past few days and consequently, I’ve had to do a lot of thinking (particularly since on the very day my voice left me, my computer was struck down by a virus and left me as well. I am typing on the mini keyboard of our netbook and am praying that I don’t accidentally delete this post when I rest to think). Continue reading
I literally did not get any sleep last night and got out of bed at 2:30 am for the day. Continue reading
Not much, at least on the outside. Lots of time obsessing over my body and food, without much to show for it.
I’m writing this so I remember that my decision to QUIT THE STRUGGLE is a good thing. I look fine and normal the way I am, I’m still relatively healthy, and my bulimia is getting better and better all the time. Heavy lifting with proper technique has helped me heal old yoga injuries and (even though it might not be visible) reduce my body fat percentage. All in all, nearly every moment I’ve spent worrying about my current weight, planning for my life after weight loss, or hating myself for having eaten too much, could have been better filled by listening to music, reading a good book, talking to a friend, cleaning my house, or doing just about anything else. Note to self: please remember this, especially when you think about starting your recovery tomorrow.
When I tell people I’m a yoga teacher, they respond in predictable ways. Most of them say something like, “Oh, I’ve tried yoga/I can’t do yoga because I’m completely inflexible/can’t balance/can’t sit still,” or some variation thereof. Others assume I have an advanced physical practice and can perform acrobatics on the level of gymnast or maybe even a cast member of Cirque de Soleil.
And some think that I’m enlightened. Continue reading
Holy bacon on a stick, Batman. Why didn’t I think of this earlier?
Oh yeah… I did and simply couldn’t execute on it. Now I don’t have to.
I grew up eating brown ‘n serve sausage links on Sundays, cooked to a crisp by my Jewish suburban mother. I loved the crunch and the salty grease that exploded into my mouth with every bite. But most of all, I loved the flavor–the sage, garlic, salt, and whatever else was in it that made it so good.
Now, as any fan of Pulp Fiction knows, pigs are filthy animals.
Even pastured pigs will eat their own young… or worse. When it comes to pork–bacon, sausage, even my beloved carnitas–I need to exercise moderation. I’ve tried to make sausage with other meats, like turkey or beef, but I just couldn’t find the correct blend of seasonings to get that magic in my mouth.
Until now. Continue reading