Excess

I can't stop eating sugar.

Now, I don't necessarily mean Ding Dongs or Ho Hos. I am not asking you to picture me at my worst, hiding in the treehouse, wolfing down my seventh little apple fruit pie thingie that comes in the green wrapper in the gas station. There was a run-in with peanut butter chocolate chip cookies from Trader Joe's recently, sure, but the sugar that I'm mostly talking about is fruit sugar.

I can't get enough of it.

At every pause in my day, my thoughts turn to what fruit I have in the fridge and if it would dull my desires. So far I've been through honeydew, pineapple, peaches, red grapes, dried cranberries, and kiwi. Nothing can soothe the beast for more than 30 minutes.

I need sugar.

I am thinking that my body is hurting right now. I think it might be depleted of almost everything, and cantaloupe is the only thing that can replenish this barren landscape that is my person. Or maybe kumquats. Or strawberries.

The longing I have had for mashed potatoes in my belly has even disappeared. Carbs can't help me now. I need SUGAR and carbs. In my bloodstream. In my face. For the reals.

There are a couple of things I know about this thing called sugar. Firstly, it is not ideal for my body, and if I don't work it off with lots of fat-burning cardio, it will be the death of my relatively shapely ass. Secondly, it should be eaten not in a mixed fruit salad, but segregated and without accompaniment. The fruit needs to pass through your stomach quickly, apparently, and if it is hindered by other food, it will ferment in your tum tum and make you feel funny. It also loses most of its nutritional value that way.

So fruit is a demanding mistress. And she has a hold on my family jewels, so to speak.

I have to stop writing. I have to go try an apple.

Or maybe I can derail the whole problem by eating one of the exquisite pickles I bought at Trader Joe's the other day.

brine, brine, everywhere. g