Burnt-out: It’s the word of the day. Tomorrow’s word will be fatigued, with Monday’s word being worn-down and exhausted inhabiting Tuesday’s word slot. I’ve done entirely much more than I have ever done before, and it is awesome. But I am done. The sudden onslaught of half-marathons, socializing and final projects has left my mind, body, and living space in a state of horror. For a girl who has almost quite literally done nothing in her life, doing “stuff” can be difficult. I can handle it, but I need some serious R&R first. T-Minus 31 days until freedom. Until then, senioritis hits hard. And I intend to hit back.
“Detox,” the body screamed, “Detox me.” French’s fried onions are my current poison of choice. Dear God, I may even be addicted to this faux salad topper. I have a serious problem: I legitimately get addicted – cravings, withdrawals, the whole bit – to certain foods. Bouillon cubes, apple cider and hot cocoa mix (straight up dry), ramen, chips… Disgustingly satisfying. And horrendous for the body. My goal is to become a certified health nut, but the harder I try to change my eating lifestyle, the harder I go to town with the craptastic food. I am so frustrated. My brain is like “detox~” but my body is like “CHICKEN NUGGETS!” Part of the problem is stress. I’m a stress-eater. Another part is lack of sleep, which is something I will have to endure for 31 more days (or change my sleeping habits, but that’s a battle for a later time). The last part of my problem is the fact that I possess no cooking skills with which to create delicious and nutritious meals. But cooking…is my worst enemy. My arch-nemesis. I honestly feel like stabbing anything and everyone in the near vicinity every time I am tasked with creating sustenance for my homestead.
HOWEVER, I have a hippie-inspired goal of banishing all hatred from my life. This includes turning the seething cauldron of loathing I feel towards cooking into a warm embrace of growth and camaraderie. Plus I really need to learn how to take care of myself and my future brood. And cooking healthy foods means eating healthy foods, which makes me fit, which makes me feel good. And sexy. And more capable. And awesome. And I’ll live a longer life than everyone else. Which means I win. I can only see good coming from this… it’s going to be a difficult battle, conquering food, but I shall triumph.