Damn Sugar

I didn't think I had much of a sweet tooth before I abandoned booze. ( and by abandoned, I mean pretty much altogether, unless we're out to dinner and it's too fun to swirl that glass of red. Or we visit friends and must have a margarita and cold beers by the toasty outdoor fireplace.) But, the actual giving up of booze isn't the real subject here, it's sugar. Oh, honey honey.

Sugar is my very hardest thing to give up. Because once I answer the knock on the door, sugar shoves me out of the way, busts on in, props its' boots on the table, and will not leave. Just like I cannot have just one (how do y'all do it?) glass of wine, I can't have just one cookie. I shovel four in before I've even tasted the first one. I'm certain I'm an emotional eater. And if cake didn't make me feel kind of sick after a whole piece I would have more. Pie? Yes, please. More, please. A pint of ice cream? Sure. Ack. Now I feel nauseous and guilty. Boo, hiss.

The problem is I know what sugar does when it comes over. It's that bad relationship you just keep making excuses for. "Oh, I know. Sugar wrecks me for days. But I really like it. And it said it would never do it again." or "I know I don't need eight Samoas. But I'm hormonal. And I had a bad morning. And I yelled and slammed a meat hammer on the counter to make a point. I deserve eight Samoas. Really. And I don't care." (to clarify for those of you wondering about the meat hammer; it's just a meat tenderizing mallet that Jack uses to crush up granola bars into cereal. I was making a point about finding your own shoes. I know, overkill. But yeesh, sometimes I cannot be mother of the year, sugar.)

The problem is. Well, my problem is: this doesn't happen daily. Or even what I would call all the time. Just as soon as I get all the yuck out of my system and my face starts stopping sprouting a new zit or 4 every day it's like a signal. A call of the wild. Yodle-lay-hee-hoo!!!! Like the old boyfriend/girlfriend that just won't go away. Just when I think it's safe and I'm fine, I don't need you I don't even miss you and I say those magic words..."I can't remember the last time I had sugar..." Whapow!!!! I'm in. Face first into the leftover Valentine's candy. Is this really just self sabotage? Am I afraid of success, or accomplishing an actual goal? I'm afraid I can already answer that with a yes, I'm pretty sure that's mostly all true.

What the real problem is is this: I cannot say no. I don't say it loud enough. Or with enough umph. So I can really hear myself.  I can't have just one piece of chocolate, one cookie, because I'm a people pleaser. And sometimes those people is me. So I've decided that today, March 21st, starts a month long hiatus from sugar. Holy fucking shit. March 21st seems like a good day to start something- it's the first day of spring, my dad's birthday, the vernal equinox (all about balance here) and lord, I'll be forty in exactly one month. Holy fucking shit.

Those monumental front number changing birthdays make you want to do something big. Remarkable. Different than that same old you you've been for the past ten years. Just the thought of turning forty has changed me immensely somewhat. You know how you just know, know that it's time to give something up? You think about it, the idea just nags and nags you, you cannot stop thinking about it. You get sick of yourself thinking about it. This is me and giving up sugar.

 Sugar does bad things to me. It makes me even more impatient than I naturally am. It makes me go up and down, up and down, happy and sad and mad and beating myself up while chomping on another cookie. Ugh. It makes me bloated and makes my skin grumpy. It gives me headaches and anxiety. But *tra laaaaaaa!!!* I love it. And when I'm sinking my teeth into some soft sugary concoction I do not care about all the consequences.

Oh, but I do. Inside my heart of hearts I really, really do. I cry a little on the inside and feel disappointed with myself (oh, how sucky) and wish I could go back and channel Nancy Reagan.

So, goodbye sweet friend. I'm sure your leaving will make me cranky and sad and make my face break out even more, but goodbye. Time to pack your things and go. Parting is such sweet sorrow.