12417332.gifI actually started writing this post a few days ago, when I was feeling very cranky. Thus the title, although I am not feeling nearly so snarky about it now.

Yes, I am doing the South Beach Diet. I was inching, quickly, toward that highest-weight-ever-in-my-life number, and I did not want to go there. And two of my family members (y’all can guess which two) had already signed on and started. They were studying the book and ingesting a lot of chicken breast and vegetables. What could I do? They asked for my support.

I had done my own try at the SBD a few years ago, but then I was the ONLY person in my family doing it, and that just did not work. At all. So I failed miserably and I think lost half a pound.

It’s been interesting. I think I am officially on Day 8 although I was doing a semi half-hearted version for about three or four days before that. The first four days or so I was really, really sad. I never felt hungry (you never do, on this one) and I felt like I was being very well nourished but not at all nurtured. That’s what carbs do for me. I was feeling as if I was just eating to keep me alive, but not happy. Grilled chicken breasts were not making me happy. I thought, I will never enjoy eating again. It was a depressing little period there.

I dove into food porn. I bought this beautiful and luscious little book called Alone In the Kitchen With An Eggplant. I am SUCH a sucker for this book: one, because eggplant is, like, one of my favorite foods EVER. The book looks and feels like an eggplant- it is smooth and black-purplish and just beautiful. The title essay is written by Laurie Colwin, whose writing I adore. So what can I do if I can’t eat wonderful, comforting, nurturing food? I can read about it. This book is fab-u-lo-so. I even bought it in hardback, retail, from an independent bookseller, so it was megabucks. But so worth it. I needed it, desperately.

I also found great solace and longing in reading Christine’s amazing post on Muffin Top, about eating a souffle (among other things!) in France.  Ahhh.

I came home from a week in the mountains. I stepped on the scale.  I held my breath. I was hoping it would be good news because my zipper pants were feeling a tad looser. (I had all but abandoned most of my zipper pants in recent months) I was hoping to be down two pounds.

It was eight.

And today: nine point two.

I am happy now! I am now back to my regularish weight (still nowhere near ideal, but at least I can zip my pants again!), rather than my Feeling Exactly Like Jabba the Hut weight.

I am also re-learning, rather painfully and slowly, that there are viable options to finding comfort in a large pan of macaroni and cheese, which I will probably love until I die. Today I took a very long walk on my favorite trail, listening to The Best Music In the World (ie., my iPod favorites) and just tripping out and getting all emotional. There are other things. Writing. Etc. But the thing is, I love food so much. Food is just a good, good thing. But I had been having way too much of this good thing.

Today I had a very beautiful lunch and I noticed every tiny small thing, relished every olive (yeah! you can have olives!) and yummy bit of heirloom tomato. It was new for me. I am SO all about bread, and rice, and pasta, and recently cornmeal (aka grits or polenta - YUM) and of course cheese of every kind. Last week when I took this fork in the road (ha, ha, ha, no pun intended) it was really painful. It was like saying goodbye to my dearest friends.

But I guess there are other friends out there, which I’m learning. Pistachio nuts are my new best friend. And the more distance I can put between myself and that big bad number, the better.