Day 23: Full of Crap

I waited so long to get to this entry. Wanna know why? Surprise—Denise is making me uncomfortable again. No wonder why I've been eating like a junk food junkie lately—I must have subconsciously known she was going to ask me to detox and cleanse my body. It's not enough that I've spent the last three weeks going through my apartment evicting dust bunnies, corralling stray papers and PostIts, tossing unused clothes, shoes, books, knicknacks, sweeping, mopping and washing windows. Now she wants me to clean my physical body from the inside out. Grrr.

I know, I know, yesterday looked like I was coming down somewhat from my Anger and settling into what threatened to be a calming, grounding week. Well. You don't know how many fast food joints and point-of-purchase candy displays I had to ignore today. I take that back. If you've gone out of your house or past your pantry at all today, you've likely encountered just as many food-related temptations as I did.

Here's the thing that got me. And before I go any further, I have to admit I know I'm whining. Again. But she's on my case in a whole new way now. She's asking me to cleanse and purify, drink more water, eat greener food, savor fresh produce and then some. Her suggestions may sound healthy on the surface—and generally speaking, I already eat along those lines anyway*—but there's still more to it.

Today's work challenges me to come off of autopilot and take control of what I'm putting in my mouth, and that just leaves a bad taste. Oh, Denise! Here's the deal. Comfort food has the word "comfort" in it because it brings the eater—on the count of three, everybody—Comfort! Who ever gained solace from a stick of celery or coarse rye crisps? WTF? Tell me this instant what real-life woman or man you personally know reached for Brussel sprouts when their significant others walked out the door never to return again or worse. What peace of mind did nuts and twigs ever bring to the gal who gave her heart and never got a ring on her finger? How's she supposed to vent over a plate of tofu?** Where's the comfort in that?

Nowhere, that's where. Frankly put, Denise is refusing to let me sulk and play the victim when I might feel the need. More to the point, if I can't soothe my bruised emotions in empty calories and buttery fat ice cream when they arise, where the hell can I let loose in vice and victimization?

Five days away, and I'm running out of places to hide.*** Fine.

Despite my own Resistance, I went forward with the day's exercise just as I always have and constantly thought of ways to get around doing the work, which is why I'm posting so late. I pass Denise's challenge on to you just as she put it to me. Consider for a moment that your body is your very own temple. Completely yours and no one else's—which in and of itself is kind of radical when you think about it. How many of us can say that we really own OurSelves? Every time you feed the temple, ask yourself if what you're slipping in through its/your front door serves to "cleanse or clog" you. I guarantee after your first few feedings, you won't be feeling too much love either.

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*It's true; my diet is extremely healthy if you don't count when I go away on vacation, when I'm treated to a meal I don't have to pay for, when I'm feeling hemmed in and need an emotional snack to fill an unfillable void and so on. Yeah, for all intents and purposes, my diet's already exemplary. More or less.

**Not to offend tofu eaters because I've got a potentially delicious bland block of the stuff in my fridge as we speak, but I'm edgy because I feel my option to jump for junk food is being compromised, tampered with for these next few days. And, frankly, that troubles me.

***How ironic that I'm looking out through my super-clear windows to the front yard of my neighbors' townhouse as I type this entry. I'm watching in disbelief as a highly motivated skunk digs up their front yard, dragging dirt and grass all the way from the sidewalk into a nook beneath their house. This crafty animal is working under the cover of night, ripping the lawn to bits and setting up house as everyone sleeps, the sneaky bastard.

If I hadn't been a witness to the skunk's destructive orchestration, I wouldn't have believed it by the light of day, suspecting instead neighborhood toughs, hooligans, gangbangers looking to settle a score. (Run for the hills, everybody!) And, thanks to Denise and her directive to see signs in everything, I get the connection between that stinker across the street and my own stinking habit in my own backyard, which, if left unchecked, could undermine all my hard work of Cleaning, Clearing, Makeovering and and Owning Up. Emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, I can see significant changes; I'm totally rocking. Where my salty-'n-sweet tooth's concerned, I'm not so happy right now.