Well How About That?

My goal for this month was to make sure I caught up to where I was last year. Which meant I needed to write something everyday. 

Today I have been restocking the freezer with beans and peas and such because Brent smoked a large pork shoulder on Sunday. So I was planning on sitting down to write when that was done. Technically they are still on the stove cooking but they are close to done. 

And I had been turning over a lot of ideas about what to write. Pride Month is almost here and it's a fraught Pride this year. Last year was bad, this year is worse. I also was going to possibly write about the ethics of voting. 

And then while I was stirring the pots on the stove the national pot just got a big old stir. 

Trump was found guilty on all 34 counts in his election fraud trial.

Wow.

And I do mean wow. 

I honestly did not think it would happen. We are so used to seeing him break laws and commit high crimes and misdemeanors in public view and nothing happening to him that I didn't think this would either. 

Even with E. Jean Carroll winning her case I still didn't think this one would hold.

It's just almost too much to hope for that he actually face any consequences. 

And it is too much to hope for that it will make a difference to his voters. 

I mean the E. Jean Carroll case is the equivalent of being found guilty of rape and they either have no idea because their media bubble did not cover the judge saying, in effect, Yeah that's what this means so stop calling her a liar for saying you raped her. That's the whole defamation part, you dolt! OR because they don't fucking care. He says it didn't happen so it didn't happen. That's all they need. 

This will be the same. They will say it was a politically motivated witch hunt and blah blah blah...

But he was still found guilty of all 34 counts. Right now he is a convicted felon. 

And that means he can't vote in the upcoming election. Even if he is appealing it. He still cannot even vote for himself.* 

What are the odds he commits voter fraud?

So yeah, this will be all from my brain today. I didn't think it would happen. I still am not convinced it will make any difference at all, or more accurately, convinced it won't. But it did happen. 

Twice impeached.
Liable for defamation against E. Jean Carroll because he did in fact sexually assault her.
Now a convicted felon. 

Finger's crossed the other cases are still brought forward and the guilty verdicts keep on coming. It won't convince the MAGAts, but it's still super satisfying to see. 

Guilty. 

Repeat that 33 more times...

*Edit: Turns out he can vote for himself. Because Florida law states that you can vote if the state you were convicted in allows felons to vote. So not nearly as funny as it was, but I do believe that restoration of rights is important, even if it's TFG's rights. So... 

A Lifetime...

Her hair had started to come out in clumps. 

What a weird phrase. But one everyone understood. Masses of hair just letting go all at once. Covering her hands as she washed what was remaining. It was almost time. 

She'd like to say it was unexpected but it wasn't. She had known it was coming. Had been preparing for it. She had told her wife that she loved her. She had been to the lawyer's office and made all of the final arrangements, making sure that all of the paperwork was in order. For her wife and for herself. She had already set up her successor on the board and talked about future plans. Though she knew full and well that what she wanted to do was not necessarily what would be done. Once she was gone she had no more control. She could only hope that this time she had chosen well. 

She hadn't always. 

But you do this enough times and you learn. 

She had lost count by now but this was well over 1000 lifetimes. 

Or partial lifetimes at least. 

Though that did count the multiple loops where she started a new life on its last day. Rebirth, death, rebirth, death, rebirth, death, over and over and over in a new vessel each time. That was some petty bullshit. But a quick reminder that a continual loop would mean both of them were stuck forever and the next time she opened her eyes it was in a hospital room with a very worried doctor looking on, "I thought we'd lost you, little man."

So she'd started all over with that one. 

That was the great mystery of her life now. Where would the next one start? Would she be a newborn? Or would she come in to a life already in progress, so to speak. Though no matter which life she joined the original owner had moved on. One soul per vessel, thank you very much. Her preference was to take over at around 20, but she didn't get to choose. Not age, not gender, not location. Dealer's choice. 

But no matter what the vessel looked like, no matter the set of memories she inherited, she was still her inside.

That had been her wish afterall. She had wanted eternal life. And also to not grow too old. She didn't want her body to age past 40. Which at the time had been a decent and normal lifespan. If she had realized that eventually that would change she would have chosen a higher age. That and she would have been more careful with her wording and clarified it was her body she wanted to be in, not just any body. Though, honestly, looking back now though starting over again and again had its drawbacks trying to hide the fact that she never aged would have had its own challenges as well. And she would have had a much harder time amassing her first fortunes. Which turned into her first cause. 

It was easier being a man for most of her lives. She was taken more seriously. She was able to set up trusts and arrange for money to be available for her the next time around. People listened when she spoke and didn't try to steal from her nearly as often. When she had realized how much easier it was to be a man she started to fight for equal rights. When she realized how difficult it was to live in a body that was viewed as disabled she began to fight for equal access. She knew what it was like to be a woman trapped inside a body that was not the gender she knew she was and so was an early advocate for trans rights. 

They say that travel is the best way to develop empathy for people who are different than you, she knew a better way, but living a life that is not the life you were born into wasn't really an option for most people. How many genies were out there in the wild? And how many people were able to make a wish that didn't immediately backfire on them?

You had to be precise in your wording and you had to look at all angles to see where it might trip you up. Genies didn't particularly like fulfilling wishes. Her guess was that as a people they had bargained with something else to get the power to live forever but hadn't specified how so this was their fate. Trapped in a bottle or lamp waiting to be set free only to have to serve the person who set them free by granting them three wishes. She did understand that there were a certain number of cycles that had to be fulfilled and then the genie would be free of their confines. Still beholden to anyone who figured out what they were, but it would be easier to hide if they weren't trapped in a lamp. 

They were also tied to the person who found them until three wishes were made. No matter how long it took. 

She had made two so far. She kept the third as an insurance policy. If she grew bored with eternal life she wanted a way out and how many times could she expect to find a genie? So they had been bound together for over 1000 lifetimes. She didn't think it was that terrible of a situation for the genie. They were free to wander the world, to live as they chose, not having to go back into their lamp. They could if they wanted to. If they felt like hiding away. But they didn't need to wait to be released when they were done. They had access to the world. And nobody could force them into service because they were still tied to her. 

But freedom is its own draw and they just wanted to be free. Not waiting constantly to see if she was going to use that last wish. On purpose or by accident. So sometimes they were petty and tried their best to make her miserable. Surely she would wish for death if she was in an eternal loop of living and dying right? But she had outstubborned them. Letting them know she would do that forever if she had to and as long as she did, that third wish would never be made. She hadn't wished for death then, just let it be known she would do that loop forever if she had to. She hadn't wished for an easier life in any of the incarnations that had been challenging, painful, terrifying. The one thing she always knew is that it would end. On that vessel's 40th birthday at the latest. But generally in their 39th year. 

She had been careful. Never wished upon a star or birthday candles or a loose eyelash. Never used the word casually in conversation. She hoped. She never wished. And so far it had worked. 

And now she was coming to the end of another life. She had taken over this one when the original owner had a skiing accident at 10 years old. What would have been a tragedy for their family ended up being celebrated as a miracle. There was no medical reason why she had survived but sometimes things were unexplainable like that. Of course she hadn't survived. The original her that had lived in this body and loved strawberry ice cream and racing down mountains and dreamed of Olympic glory, she had moved on. To what the new owner of her body didn't know. Had originally never wanted to know, but lately realized that she was tired. Tired of the endless living. 

But for now there was still so much she wanted to accomplish. She would take the next life, or maybe the next few, and replenish her accounts. Refill the coffers. Make sure she had the money the next time she restarted in a life that was primed to be good at doing good. She'd keep fighting for a better world. One that she could look back on and see the changes, the ones she had some small part in bringing forward. 

A voice buzzed in her head. 

That they had helped bring forward. Yes, together they had done a lot of good. And all you could hope for was that they could continue to do so for at least a few more cycles. She hoped it would be enough.

Hoped. 

She said hope. 

Oh It's Me...

A friend posted something today that kind of got stuck in my head in a tangle of other things I've seen or talked about lately, which is a cue to me to write it all down. Sometimes these collections stick together and sometimes they don't. Let's see which one this will be, shall we?

The post was a screenshot of another post with the first comment showing "Part of maturity is looking back and realizing you were toxic too" and the comment was "If you can look back at your past and not cringe it means you haven't grown or changed." 

Earlier today I was watching an Instagram clip from someone talking about how hard it was growing up gay in the 90s and early 2000s. That homophobia and transphobia permeated everything and if you weren't gay or trans it was so pervasive that at the time you didn't even notice. A straight friend of his had gone back and watched some old episodes of a comedy that they used to love and had been shocked about how homophobic it was. He said, who knew? The guy making the clip said "I did. And every gay friend you had did. And we all laughed along with it because we didn't want to call attention to ourselves." And he grew up in the 90s and early 2000s. It just gets worse the further back you go. Like I've talked about having friends in high school who were out and how rare that was at the time. Even if everyone KNEW you were gay you did not say it. You tried your best to hide it. If you got bullied for being too femme as a guy you were told to act more manly and stop being such a...fill in the choice of slurs here.  

This past weekend when I was talking to Katie she was telling me about a movie she had seen the previous weekend. It was one that really meant something to her and she is interested to see what my take on it will be. Because it's a queer allegory. Or more specifically a trans allegory. We talked about how no matter how much I can try I will never experience life the same way she does because I'm not trans. I will view things through that cis lense. And then she said that a few critics have pointed out that it also seems to be a reflection on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and how looking back at it how problematic it was. 

Which I told her to shut her fucking mouth. 

Just kidding, I didn't. I told her that I hadn't gone back and rewatched Buffy in a long time and I didn't think I would again. Because it's too important to me. Then asked if she understood what I meant by that. She got it. 

Buffy, at the time, and for the time, was really progressive. But Joss Whedon isn't a good guy. And there were things in there that were clearly not great, even at the time. The turning point in the Spike story line, for instance. But we papered over a lot of the issues with retconning and love for other things about the show. But I won't watch it now because I wouldn't be able to look past some of the things that I'm sure are there that I didn't notice. Because it was pervasive and if it didn't directly affect you, you just didn't see it. But Buffy was important to me. It was a show that spoke to me. It and Angel actually meant something more to me than just a TV show story. It colored my life in a different way. 

I don't do rewatches of most older shows. I tried going back and rewatching Friends a few years ago. Everyone seemed to be on a kick of binging it and I thought, what the heck, it's something I can turn on when I don't have to really concentrate and I watched it all the first time and really liked it so...

Yeah. No. I mean I remembered it was incredibly white. Like even for the time when everything on TV was incredibly white they got push back. And so they added a Black character. A. For awhile. Then went back to just them. But it's also homophobic, transphobic and fatphobic. Like constantly. I'll just stick with my memories of the parts that weren't. I don't need to have the rest spoiled by remembering that they made Chandler's dad trans just for the jokes. Or Ross's ex-wife a lesbian for the same reason. Or that Monica in a fat suit dancing was a whole joke on its own. Just that. A joyous fat girl, hilarious. 

When Katie was younger we did a rewatch for me, first watch for her, of a lot of the John Hughes films that defined my teenage years. Now, I will be honest and I've always railed against Sixteen Candles. Like from the moment I walked out of the theater, much to the hate of all of my friends. But almost all of them are terrible. Ferris Bueller's Day Off was about the only one that held up. The rest had Katie looking on in horror at times. But it was all really normal at the time. We were like the woman in the Palmolive commercial...we were soaking in it. (Only a smaller and older handful of you will get that reference)

But now when we reread books or rewatch shows or think about our own word choices or friend choices we see the things we would not do now. We wouldn't laugh at certain jokes. In fact we'd say something to the joke teller like What the Fuck is wrong with you? Or So what, exactly, makes that joke funny? Explain it to me. That second one is actually a good one to toss out. Start out by saying you don't get it. Then ask why it's funny. Make them explain it to you. They might still go out and tell racist, sexist, queerphobic, jokes but at least you will have made them really look at it at best or embarassed the fuck out of them, which might actually be the best part now that I think about it. 

But that's change. We change. We evolve. We progress. It's why the Right rails against "woke" because they don't want to. It's uncomfortable to look back and realize that you were being racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, fatphobic, or just a general asshole. Nobody likes to think of themselves that way. But if you are changing, if you are growing as a person part of that is knowing that who you were 15 years ago is not who you are now. And that's okay. 

So you either get to rail against the change and demand your right to be an asshole that is never questioned, or you change and grow and stop being an asshole.

I know I have been a person in the past that I would smack down in the present and I also know that right now I say things and believe things that I won't in 15 years. Because I'm always changing. I'm always trying to grow. 

But I'm also okay with letting somethings remain important enough to me not to fuck with now. Buffy won't get a rewatch, but I'll always love it. I won't watch Friends but I will sing Smelly Cat to my boys and ask Brent How you doin? And that's also okay. Take the good parts and leave the rest. 

Change and growth are uncomfortable but staying the same is worse.  

Memorial Day Times Two...

I normally give a lecture about Memorial Day on my Facebook feed. It's not the unofficial kick off to summer. It's not the start of BBQ season. It's not Veteran's Day or Armed Forces' Day. It's a very specific day of remembrance. It's for those that did not make it. The whole all gave some and some gave all moment. 

I've gotten so much push back from people when I correct them, or when Brent corrects them, for thanking him for his service on Memorial Day. First off, he really doesn't like it when people thank him for his service at any time, but on Memorial Day especially. Memorial Day is for those that did not live. Stolen valor is a giant taboo in the service and there is no worse stolen valor than to take away the focus on Memorial Day.

But people are offended when they are corrected. As if "I was trying to be nice" means it's okay. 

It's not. 

And I do understand that you were trying to be nice, but take the correction. 

This year Memorial Day is also in our window of we don't know. We don't know when Brent's mother actually died. Her official date is May 29. But it could have been today, or tomorrow. The last time anyone saw her was early on the 27th. She was going to go to bed and try and recover. She stopped answering texts the evening of the 27th but we don't know if she was just asleep or if she was already gone by then. Her friend didn't break into the house and find her until the 29th after she didn't respond to messages the 27, 28 and 29. And after the police went to the wrong house for the check. 

So we are in the we don't know period. Her official date of death is the 29th, but we are pretty sure that that is not it. It seems more likely that it was the 27th or 28th. 

Forget what you know from watching police procedurals, there was no coroner looking at her body before they loaded it up and saying, well clearly she died on this date at this time. It's all estimates. And with the backlog of deaths at the morgue we were lucky to get a death certificate within a few weeks. If we had wanted a full autopsy it would have been months before they could get to her. 

Because so many people were dying right then.

Which is why the "Are you better off now than you were four years ago?" bullshit that Trump's lackies are trying is so infuriating. Four years ago we had refrigerator trucks lined up outside morgues while he talked about injecting bleach. Yes, we are clearly better off now than we were then. 

But today is Memorial Day. A moment to remember Jack, to remember Ann and to be grateful for all of the people who are being remembered by their friends and family. 

And to wish, as always, that the wars would stop. That we would stop sending our children to die for lines on maps. For resources that if the world decided to share there is enough for everyone to share. That we would stop dropping bombs on children and justifying it by saying it's either their children or ours. We don't have to kill each other. It's a choice we make. And we continue to make the wrong choice. 

Remember that today. 

And every day.  

Keeping it 100....

This is the 100th blog of the year. I thought about posting a banked fiction piece but since I got something worked out for my Dana exchange early I decided to write a new piece. 

I like milestones. I mean, milestones are basically just gold stars right? But I'm not the only one who likes them. Everyone talks about milestones. Heck, we celebrate the calendar turning over every year. EVERY YEAR. And when it's a big one, like the 1999 to 2000 switch we really go crazy. 

I mean literally crazy on that one with the Y2K hullabaloo. 

But milestones, road markers, check points. We all like them.

It's part of what made Weight Watchers such a terrible idea for me. You got a new reward at every 5 pounds lost and at certain percentages of your body weight lost and a different goals. It was like a continual milestone/gold star machine. I would have kept going for a lot longer than I did if people hadn't started to say, "Umm...you are supposed to stop when you reach your goal weight..."

But I love a good milestone. I love a good gold star. 

And then at the same time I think we put too much pressure on them. We expect there to be some sort of magic to them that there just isn't. Like New Year's Eve. We celebrate that change and then we make all sorts of resolutions to do things differently. Like we are going to wake up on January 1st somehow fundamentally changed from who we woke up as on December 31st. 

We expect Valentine's Day to be the most romantic and special day of the year. 

We expect to wake up feeling more grown-up and mature on our 18th birthday.

We think that there is going to be some sort of fundamental change in our relationships after we say I do. 

But that's not how it works. 

The change for New Year's Resolutions starts long before January 1st. Or at least it should if you have any hope of making them stick. If you want to work out more, you need to have the plan in place on how that's going to happen. When are you going to do it? How are you going to make it happen? Do you really want to do it in the first place? Because if you don't, you won't stick with it. Because, and here is the secret from someone who has worked out consistently for decades. It often just sucks. It can be boring. It can be tiring. There are 100 other things you'd rather do right then, and a lot of them including sleeping or sitting on the couch. You have to have a plan that started long before that milestone date. 

Most of you know I don't celebrate Valentine's Day or Mother's Day. I think they are days that set people up to be disappointed. Katie calls me almost every week. I would hate to trade that for her taking me out to breakfast or sending me a card once a year. My idea of romantic is when Brent sends me a meme of a skeleton saying something funny, because it shows that he knows who I am. I would not appreciate a dozen roses and a fancy dinner once a year instead. When Valentine's Day rolls around and people ask him what he's doing for me he says, "We don't celebrate, she expects me to tell her I love her every day."

And look at this blog. It's the 100th blog of the year so I feel like it should be something big and different but really it's just the same thing as always. Me telling you what I think about the world. 

And what I think is that I love a good gold star and milestone marker and I also think that a lot of the markers we choose do more harm than good. Don't wait for a special day to tell someone how much you love them. Don't think you are going to feel like a grown-up just because you turned 18, or 21, or 35 or 55 (I'll let you know what 56 brings). Don't think you are going to turn into a brand new person just because you are writing a new year on your checks, or whatever the equivalent is now that we don't use checks! 

And don't think that a wedding day is what makes a marriage. Everyone knows what makes a marriage is skeleton memes. 

Almost...

Looking at my On This Day feed on Facebook for last year and I made a post about writing my 100th blog of the year. This will be my 99th, so I'm almost caught up. If I continue to write every day this month by the end of May I will be exactly on track. 

Not that it matters...but...it matters.

Then if I just write 5 fiction pieces and 13 nonfiction pieces a month I will hit the goal I set for last year. If I write more than that I will hit the numbers I hit last year. Do we have any bets on which on I will actually aim for?

I do know that writing has been really challenging this year and it will just get worse. I don't want to keep harping on the election what what TFG is doing right now but it takes up so much oxygen that it's hard to find other things to write about. 

I also know I've written about pretty much everything from my past, and what makes me me and I'd guess that even the first time through it wasn't all that interesting to anyone else but me. I mean it's my navel I'm gazing at, I don't expect you all to find it all that enthralling. 

But then again, I treat my blog as a journal, not a literary masterpiece so if it's filled with the same stories over and over that is what I'm thinking about at the time so maybe it's no big deal? 

I guess what I'm saying is you can expect a few pieces about TFG when I just need to get the noise out of my head. A lot of pieces on my ongoing body acceptance struggles and maybe some stuff on what I'm starting to learn about VAST (also known as ADHD or ADD). 

I'm also doing Duolingo with Brent and starting over on my Spanish so maybe I'll write about that bossy owl. 

OH! And I think I mentioned, I picked back up Calm to try and well, find a way to calm my head down at times. I've tried so many times over the years to meditate and I sort of unlocked the secret last time I was using Calm. Your goal isn't to have a clear head. Your goal is to recognize the thoughts then let them go. Don't ruminate, don't dwell, don't overthink. Oh! Well that's...not much easier actually, but at least it's doable. 

It's kind of funny in a way, or at least to me. I started this year wanting to have no goals because I didn't think I needed them, it's not like what I do changes much based on a goal or not. Then I discovered that even if I'm doing the same things I feel better if there is a goal around them. And now I'm sort of figuring out that I feel even better if I stuff a lot into my head. The language, the meditation, the nonfiction reading, the fiction reading, the nonfiction writing, the fiction writing, all of the things it takes to run the house. It's sort of like if my head is really stuffed then I don't run in circles chasing the same half dozen patterns. 

Either that or I am on the verge of a manic cycle and later this year when it leaves I will be dragging my ass in here to try and find ANYTHING to write about because NOTHING is sparking interest. 

I have a feeling it's a little bit of both. 

And, oh my goodness would I love to have a bit of a manic cycle. So productive! If I could figure out how to trigger small ones without the inevitable swing back I would be so happy. 

Brent says cocaine. 

He's joking. Sort of.

But I do imagine that's why people use cocaine or meth. It gives that bump of energy and clarity the first time, or first few times. Then it all falls apart. Manic depression through chemistry. 

It's why I have never done any drug aside from alcohol. I'm just not sure what my particular brain chemistry would do if I altered it like that. I'll keep my own natural highs and lows and manage them through exercise and food and gold stars. 

(As an aside, if you need medication to manage your own chemistry there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. I've talked with different doctors over the years about medication and we've all agreed that for now I manage my mental health well enough through food, exercise, and my own coping skills, BUT if I ever have a depressive cycle like I did a few years ago I will for sure medicate. It's just like diabetes or high blood pressure or anything else that you might need help regulating. Better living through science.)

And yeah, I know as you read this you are thinking, Oh for sure edge of a manic cycle. But also know we went to Insomnia for coffee and what you are actually seeing right now is extra coffee and no workout so...

Brain dump for the 99th blog. Now to think of something profound for #100 tomorrow. 

Or I will pull a fiction piece from the Dana files and you'll get that. 

Most likely that because I haven't written for the Dana exchange yet and I'll probably focus on that tomorrow instead. 

Okay, that's it. Now is where you regret ever thinking, I wonder what it's like inside her head...

What Would You Give?

What would you give up to get something else? 

I've always said that I'd like to be one of those people that just views food as fuel. That it would make it so much easier. 

Because I love to eat. I have an involuntary happy dance that happens when something is really good. 

Even now with the dietary restrictions I have I still have what we call cheat meals. I know it's possibly going to mess with my digestive system or I'm going to break out in itchy hives, but I still eat my very favorites every few months. It's worth it to me. And if I'm really careful the rest of the time, the problems those foods cause when I do eat them is minimal.

But now there is an option for food to just be fuel. Semaglutide. They are figuring out that that is why it works for weight loss. At the higher doses it dulls out the pleasure center of your brain. It's why it's also working for gambling addiction and alcoholism. You don't get the pop of YAY! So you just don't crave it anymore. You break that pleasure loop and so your brain stops seeking it. Food is just fuel. 

I'm not super heavy but this is America so I could absolutely find a doctor willing to prescribe it for me. Convincing Brent that it's worth over $1000 a month might be trickier, but I bet I could do that as well. And then once I started I could stop being obsessive about my weight. I could ditch a lifetime of disordered eating. I could FINALLY be done with it all. And that is really tempting. 

All for the low low price of $1200 a month, possible nausea and diarrhea, weekly injections and doing this for the rest of my life. 

Oh and that whole losing the pleasure in eating part. 

I worked with a woman quite a few years ago who was just naturally skinny. Not thin, not svelte, skinny. She could not put on weight. Which, of course, seems like not a problem to most of us when you hear about it, but it was a problem for her. People constantly commented on her size. And she had a hard time regulating her body temperature, and her periods were super irregular. Everyone assumed she was anorexic. But it was because she didn't enjoy eating. She just didn't get pleasure out of it. She ate enough to stay alive, basically.

You could never tempt her with goodies. No salty or sweet treats made her run to the breakroom to make sure she got one before they were all gone. When we ate together she would have two or three bites and then sort of force herself to have a few more. She just didn't like it. The food itself brought her no pleasure. Eventually a nutritionist put her on those Ensure shakes they give to older people to make sure they get enough calories. She drank a few of those a day as well as a pretty strict diet of things she "had" to eat to get her nutrition in. She viewed it just like medicine at that point. And it worked to get her to a little healthier weight. Still very slim, but at least she started menstruating again.

She saw food strictly as fuel at that point. 

When people undergo chemotherapy they lose their appetites. Same thing. Food doesn't taste good. It doesn't smell good. It can cause nausea. They lose weight. One of the times that my mom was pretty sure she was going to have to start chemo again she told me, "I'm glad, I've gained a little weight and this will make me lose it." I come by my disordered eating naturally. 

A lot of people lost their sense of smell and taste with Covid. They lost weight too. When food loses it's pleasurability we stop eating. 

Which to me means that our bodies were designed to find food pleasurable. To make sure we eat. And that something major has to happen for us to not have that drive. We lose our sense of smell or taste. We circumvent the pleasure we get from eating with the pleasure we get from controlling our eating. (Hello, anorexia!) Or now we inject ourselves with a drug four times a month that dulls the pleasure center in our brains so we no longer feel the need to eat our favorite foods. 

Would you be willing to dull the pleasure you find in life to be thinner? 

How much does being thinner mean to you? 

Does it mean more than the happy dance inducing warm chocolate chip cookie? 

I have always said that I wish I viewed food as fuel and not pleasure. 

Turns out I was wrong.