Struggling With The New Diet

At another time in my life I would have eaten all of this, and indeed I did…

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

—Langston Hughes

I’ve started dreaming about food. Or rather, started have pseudo-nightmares where I, accidentally and without thinking, absentmindedly put something in my mouth. In my waking life I often absentmindedly put things in my mouth. (Heh. That’s totally what she said.) In these dreams I am sometimes at a party, chattering away before reaching down to the bowl of nuts or the plate of canapé and without thinking popping a small taste of heaven into my mouth. I wake up then, without the dream complete to show me what the consequence of my action is.

It’s been five days since my surgery—a procedure done on the part of my esophagus where it meets the stomach. Five days of liquids, spasms, intermittent pain and soreness. Five days without real food.

Fruit + bacon + cheese = real food.

The thing about being someone who is pretty much romantically involved with food is that you’re never sure what you will miss. I can’t choose one specific thing to eat for the rest of my life. Do I adore bacon? Absolutely. But even I don’t know if I could eat that porcine goodness, and only that, for the rest of my days. What I miss most of all right now I think is the variety. And of course the ability to snack…

The list of approved foods for the first two weeks is pretty sparse: Yogurt, pudding, broth, strained soups, well-cooked pureed vegetables, blended cottage cheese. Items which can be sucked through a straw if necessary. No chunks, no potatoes. My plans to live on mashed potatoes where thwarted when is saw the list. So I’ve been living on what we will call “adult baby food.” Which means well-cooked pureed carrots or broccoli, mixed with chicken broth for protein. It’s not bad actually, add some cumin or some well-mined basil and it tastes like a delightful soup. Except that I’m clearly sick of soup since I’m dreaming of hors d’oeuvres. Le sigh.

Here I am with a giant chicken, which now of course I will probably dream about.

This morning the BF made some bacon to cure his hangover. I wanted to cry. The whole house smells of bacon now and I find myself lustily dreaming about grilled cheese sammies, zucchini fritters, and milky burrata with heirloom tomatoes. This is much easier to mind than a self-imposed diet and it is right now, as I sit here, that I truly feel for all the people out there trying to change their lives and lost weight by modifying or limiting their food intake. I’m one of those people who works out just so I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, and am always carrying 10-15 extra pounds as a result. But I can’t imagine this being a chosen path. Were it not by doctor’s order, were it not possibly a way to bust my stitches and kill me, I would happily consume to my heart’s content and then some.

Only nine more days to go before I can add the next batch of approved foods to the list. I can hardly contain myself and I can’t wait to see what I dream about next…

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