i'll let you in on a little secret:
sometimes i start to write posts, get a sentence or two in, and then stop.
of course i don't publish it — you're not going to one day check in and see a post that consists of a garbled sentence or two. that wouldn't be professional.
blog writing is very professional. seriously.
anyway, this is the latest of many posts to languish forlornly in the garden. so let's plant it and publish it.
way back when — okay, early june 2010; whatever — i stopped eating potatoes.
you probably already know this. i didn't exactly keep it a secret or anything. and you saw my last bite of potato in this establishment appraisal.
i think (at first) pretty much most of my friends and family thought i was crazy. and i probably was. like most things i do (such as picking out what's for lunch or going to israel), i decided it on whim. i was feeling pretty low and was noticing that i was over-indulging in potatoes — my comfort food of choice — which, in turn, was only making me feel worse.
so i went cold turkey.
isn't the phrase "cold turkey" odd? doesn't it make you think of the morning after thanksgiving rather than giving something up suddenly? though, i suppose we all go cold turkey on cold turkey after thanksgiving. what do you suppose it's called when a turkey goes cold turkey on something? is it called something else or does it just mean that turkey needs a scarf? maybe a cold turkey is just a really bitchy ('scuse the language) turkey.
by the way, did i mention i haven't drunk my coffee yet this morning?
okay, anyway, i survived the summer.
i think there were only a couple instances where i accidentally had a bite of potato. one of those instances was a particularly pitiful day: my lovely mother had made soup for dinner and, knowing i wasn't a big fan of barley and forgetting my current diet, she put potatoes in the soup. we both felt wretched because wretched is a good word and not used nearly enough, but i picked out the potatoes i could find and went on with life.
i mean, really. it's not worth it to get stressed out over a potato or two.
the end date for my potato-free regime was my birthday, september second. and during the great potato famine, i eschewed all potatoes — chef potatoes, red bliss potatoes, sweet potatoes, vodka (because many vodkas are made with potatoes in them), even my mother's lovely french potatoes (which might be one of my all time favorite dishes). like all addictions, the first month or so was the most difficult.
i craved french fries.
it was serious. it was bad.
but then it wasn't.
the second month and a half or so was considerably easier. i didn't miss having chips at lunch; i had side salads instead of fries. i wasn't over-eating at meals and i was noticeably happier with the meals i did eat. they were fulfilling.
the funny thing was, even though i was okay with it, a lot of others weren't. other people minded my potato-free lifestyle more than i did. it was weird. ct helped me count the "days left until potatoes" when i lost track and apologized whenever he ate fries in front of me.
and when september second finally did roll around, i didn't want potatoes. oh, i ate a bite on the day (trader joe's, ironically, had "adult" tater tots as their sample of the day), but it was more symbolic than anything else. and in the past week and a half since, i haven't gone out of my way to really start eating potatoes again. if they're there, okay. if not, whatever. and even if they are there, i haven't necessarily wanted them.
potatoes — mashed potatoes, french fries, etc. — are no longer my comfort food of choice.
that unhealthy cycle has been broken.
so where do i go from here?
i've decided to do three months without beer, starting september first.
we can chat again about all of this in early december if you like.