lucky charm

Finally got my computer back!
Andrew had ACL surgery, and he took over the office.
Then Grandma came to stay and the computer is in the guest room...which I am not complaining about in the least.  I love it when Grandma comes, and would gladly give up the computer in exchange for her presence.

So, for the last 2 weeks I have been writing blogs in my head.
I have forgotten all of them.
Now the loudest thought in my mind is,
"I don't see what all the hype is about Dunkin' Donuts coffee.  I think it sucks."

As far as eating disorder recovery goes, my head is stuck.
It keeps returning to this article I read on Intermittent Fasting by Sara Solomon.
Apparently - IF - which is the ridiculous abbreviation for this tactic - is the newest diet craze.
How did I fall for this?
How did I get sucked into believing the right strategy will allow me to eat without guilt?
The how is irrelevant.
I should have known when I saw her pictures and read the language.  This is just another quick fix.
I should have known. This is not truth.
Images of her taking a photo of her own ass in the mirror should have told me.
"All you have to do is eat whatever you want for 6 hours a day and fast for the other 18!"
She may as well have been saying,
"All you have to do is maintain control and you'll be sexy like me!"

talisman string for every diet I've tried...

This is no different than any other promise I have made to myself.
And I always fail.
I fail because I am not meant to be a diet.
I am meant to be a whole person.

I've been afraid to write about this
I wanted to believe Sara Solomon.
I wanted to carry her like a secret charm in my pocket.

But I knew.  I owe it to myself and to my handful of readers, to be honest.
I started this blog with the intent of holding back nothing.
So here I am.  Admitting that I fell for it once again.
Now this is me, throwing my little charm into the D.I. box.  It holds no value for me.
It is a cheap imitation of life.

To be alive is to gaze out beyond tightly wound compulsions.  It is to perceive the entire rotation and to stand in awe of my meager place.  I am just one butterfly still in chrysalis.  This is also the relief offered to me by truth.

Last night I drove in my car with a girl new to recovery.
"I never used to notice the changing of seasons,"  she said.
 I smiled.
We sailed along Foothill drive above the valley and watched a cantaloupe-colored sun sink into the great salt lake.
"It looks almost tropical,"  she said.
"It does.  That is the perfect word for that color of sun," I replied.