Remember what I said about abundance and how I seemed to be surrounded by it? It has continued in spades.
My contest-addicted girlfriend won an all expense paid trip to Punta Cana and is taking me as her guest! The timing couldn’t be more perfect for this Seasonal Affective Disorder suffering sad sack. Despite a campaign of vitamins, acupuncture, morning walks and my light box, I am slipping into a wintery pit of despair. It is hard to sink too deeply, however, when there are flip flops and fruity drinks to look forward to. Naturally I am fully prepared to be my friend’s lady servant. The sand is too hot for her delicate toes? I will piggy back her to her beach chair. Her drink needs refreshing? I will happily fetch her a fresh one. She is feeling too hot and needs to be fanned with palm fronds? I am her personal fanner.
Regrettably, all this good fortune cannot come without a dash of neurosis on my part. I have just recently emerged from a shortbread stupor and have spent the past few dark months self medicating through carbs. I am now in a panic. In a week’s time I will be in a bathing suit, leaving me little time to deflate my carb bloat. I went to the gym this week to see if I could cardio away my gut, only to have the snotty girl at the front desk confiscate my gym card.
“Your membership expired in December,” she informed me. “When was the last time you were here?”
“Not in December I guess,” I answered.
I was too busy eating chocolate and pasta in December to go to the gym. Obviously I need to take desperate measures. I tried the Master Cleanse a few years ago where all you consume is lemon water with maple syrup and cayenne pepper. I have never been so close to eating my own arm just to have something to chew. I tried it again last year, thinking that perhaps it would be easier the second time around and gave up after three days. I am now considering something gentler called the Kitchari fast that my yogi friend’s Ayurvedic doctor recommended. It is a mono cleanse where you eat a porridge-like gloopy concoction of mung beans and brown rice in order to centre your doshas, give your digestive system a break and get balanced.
“Balance shmalance!” I cried to my girlfriend, “I’m not worried about my doshas. How much weight can I lose on this thing, and how fast? ”
There will be chances to balance my energy another time. For now vanity takes precedence over the state of my well being. Enlightenment can wait. I need to squeeze into a bathing suit soon.
The Sweetie is regarding my latest cleansing plans with some trepidation. His memories of my sniffing his food like a dog, the glares, the whining and suggestions that he eat his meals in the car are still too fresh and painful.
“Don’t you think you are setting yourself up for failure? Can’t it be a moderate plan?” he asked.
“No time!” I snarl, thumbing through dusty workout DVD’s and measuring out my mung beans.
“What’s going to happen when you get to the resort and you are faced with the buffet?”
I know what he is getting at. My gluttony at buffets is a terrifying sight to witness. In fact, The Sweetie has admitted that he fears that one day I will die at a buffet.
“So you’re going to starve yourself for a week and then you’ll get to this resort and gorge at the buffet and drink tonnes of alcohol. Anything you lose will come right back on.”
“Not right away“, I reason. “I’ll have a day or two before I suddenly explode out of my bathing suit on my beach chair and hopefully by that time I will be so blissfully happy and delighted by life again that I won’t care.”
By the time I get on the beach I will realize that I am surrounded by strangers I will never see again who are probably either as neurotic, or as drunk as I am. I will be warm. I will have ice cream and fancy drinks with umbrellas.
I really should tone down the atonement, eat a few mung beans just for fun and revel in my good fortune.