The jar of brains

Sometimes I think life would be so much easier if I could take my brain out of my head and leave it in a jar for a few days, rather than endlessly obsess about what I think. Which is just my way of saying up front that I’m having the most horrible feelings of guilt about even updating this journal when catastrophe has hit a city barely twelve hours from my house. But of course when I think about that I figure that this catastrophe shouldn’t hit me harder than, say, any other world catastrophe does and I don’t seem to mind posting about my health issues then.

Bother.

Despite my assertions to the contrary, I haven’t been doing very well the past two weeks. I’ve been indulging and “treating” myself more than normal, and that’s evidenced itself by only a trifle weight loss on the scale (I nearly said truffle. Mmm, truffles.) As of yesterday though something clicked back into place, and I found myself once again coming back to the place of attention and focus that I had in the spring and early summer. I live for this feeling, and when I have it I can’t be persuaded that I’ll ever feel differently, but the time does come when I begin to ignore my good habits and I fall back into a not-so-healthy pattern. That’s what happened in August. It’s hard for me to imagine that I have upped my running from 1 mile to almost 3 miles last month and yet only lost 3 pounds. Something in there spells doom, my friends, and I think it’s spelled Taco Bell. (The empanadas are like crack, man.)

I’m off to Chicago this weekend, despite abominable gas prices, to see the Body Worlds exhibit, and I’m heading to the store this evening to pack a cooler for the trip because I know that my frugality might win out over my gluttony only if I have pre-packed food. Because those chicken quesadillas at TB? SO good.