Thursday, August 27, 2015

Whole 30, Day 5

My angry busker isn't angry or busking anymore. I guess it must be true that nicotine only lives for three days in the body and after it passes, the cravings are emotional. I, on the other hand, am still living with a sugar monster on my back, especially at my morning coffee.

Coffee is something I've been drinking my whole life. I used to spend a lot of time with my Puerto Rican grandparents when I was a little girl and coffee was part of our morning rituals. I'd sit on the high, wicker-backed chair at the counter while my grandmother brewed coffee and my grandfather sliced French bread. I loved our mornings together, they're some of my favorite memories from childhood. My grandparents had a chicken coop out back and my sister and I would go out in the mornings to find the shit-covered eggs, still feather-warm, and bring them int the house. While the coffee was brewing my grandmother would put a small, enamel pot filled with milk on and watch it carefully to make sure it didn't bubble over. I remember her sticking her finger into the pot to catch the skin on the top of milk and licking it off her finer. I tasted it once and hated it. She'd pour coffee into a mug for me, stir in heated milk and then pour in coffee. Heaven. My grandfather would sit next to me and dip pieces of bread into my sugary coffee and feed them to me. I loved the taste of sweet, milky coffee. Even as an adult, that first sip of coffee, the acid balanced out with sugar, reminds me of being deeply loved.

So emotional attachment to sugar. My parents didn't really have a lot of sugar in the house, because my sisters and I would attack and destroy it, we weren't allowed soda or candy. It didn't matter too much because we lived in such a Mexican neighborhood and Mexican candy isn't too sweet. It is spicy and salty and that was, and probably is, my favorite flavor. Even now, at 36, I have bags of Mexican candy squirreled away here at the apartment. 

Last night I was what H and I called "Roam-y." I was restless, un-still. All I wanted was to roam, in my thoughts, in my body. I wanted dark chocolate, something artisan, probably salty. Instead I munched on cashews and self-hated. I'm still having trouble falling asleep. The weather has been stupidly hot and humid and I have hated the feeling of my own skin touching my own skin. Yeah, not normal. I've been spreading out like a starfish so my legs don't touch each other, so my arms don't touch my body. Showering multiple times a day. I'm tired a lot, physically, even though I feel mentally sharp. My body still aches.

Eh, it'll pass. I know this first week is supposed to be the most challenging as my body adjusts to the shifts in my consumption. Next week will be better. I'm heading to Chicago for a few days to see a friend and will have to plan my meals while traveling, and have no deep dish pizza, which doesn't sound that appealing anyway. As long as I can have a Jibarito  (without cheese or mayo) I'll be ok.

Also, H is amazing at this. He is so damn good, to me, as always. Making me breakfast, coffee with coconut milk, packing my lunch every day. Now, even over three years into our relationship I look at him sometimes and think "Who ARE you and why are you so incredible?" 

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