confession: do you wanna know why i’m not a vegetarian? it ain’t because i looooovvve meat. i mean, meat is okay(ish) and i eat chicken most days but the reason i’m not a vegetarian is that i’d get fat on all the nut butters—peanut butter, cashew butter, almond butter. i looooooooovvve the nut butters. i’d binge on the nut butters if i *had* to eat them as a source of protein. (i binge on them anyway but less since i don’t nutritionally depend on them.) also, about vegetarianism, i’d get bored with beans and lentils. (i get bored with them already without being a vegetarian.) vegetarianism aligns with my ethics…but in the end, my eating disordered limitations around nut butters sway my choice because addicts usually choose their addictions even when the addiction conflicts with their values. thank you to all the vegetarians honoring the earth (and my own values) while i keep eating chicken (and trying to avoid bingeing on the perfection of nut butters).
confession: i was eating peanut butter on toast while typing that last confession. if you think i ate a single piece of toast smeared with peanut butter, you’re wrong. i ate three pieces. see? i would’ve been able to eat one piece of toast with peanut butter if i had eaten three ounces of chicken first. the chicken is already shredded in a sealed container on the top shelf of the fridge, but noooooo, i went for the peanut butter, two times, three times.
confession: i get self-conscious about typing food confessions to y’all because a) my food struggles bore me and therefore i assume they bore you and b) this shit is shameful for me. whether i post or delete the food confessions derives from a need to either puncture the shame by speaking it or protect the shame be keeping it secret.
confession: if i weren’t confessing to you about nut butters and bingeing, i’d be left confessing about lasers searing wrinkles and my conflicts about “aging gracefully” versus voluntarily burning deep layers of dermis to promote collagen growth.
confession: women my age ubiquitously comment on my “beautiful skin.” i respond to every comment honestly with three words, “lasers and botox.” if my best friend is standing nearby, she adds, “and she doesn’t go out in the sun.”
confession: i have two friends much younger than i am. for the next year, i am exactly 50% older than their age. i adore them. they are smarter, wiser, and kinder than i was at their age. they listen when i preview what the next 15 years of living will universally bring. i had friends 50% older when i was their age. i did my best to listen when my older friends previewed what the next 15 years would bring. some of those older friends of mine have died since…which adds weight to my daily pondering of death. i wrote to one of my young friends who was attending his grandmother’s funeral this week, “i’m glad you’ll most likely outlive me.” what i meant and didn’t say is that my heart breaks every day from loving and grieving and that i don’t want to have to survive the loss of every friend. i want to live long enough to love everybody well and i want to die in time that i can skip the grieving of some friends’ deaths. (note to self, keep making younger and younger friends.)