Watering entries are personal diaries, alluding to this post's conclusion. They are a potpourri of recent thoughts and experiences (one might even call them a blog, if one were to be so common), published when I have no other projects to work on, in order to ensure I've written something for the day.
It was picture day. The results were mediocre, but I don't know that I would have been satisfied with anything, considering this month's decrepit stagnancy. I woke up with the thought in my mind that if I hadn't lost, I'd finally broach to my father the subject of a cheat meal.
After the run, I came to my senses and broached EC stacking instead. During the course of the conversation, however, wherein I offered the cheat meal as a, in some ways, less risky alternative, and he expressed misgivings about both, I decided that I didn't want to overlook either.
So my father went out and, as I nervously and eagerly awaited his return, pliably picked me up everything for which I'd asked. I didn't think to ask for a blood pressure monitor. That might come next.
With Peep Show on shuffle, the same show I was watching as I consumed my farewell giant trough of pasta in September, I relapsed. It's interesting, entering a meal that you know will have detrimental physical effects, trying to determine when ketosis breaks, to scrutinize every sensation.
One tortilla chip didn't do it.
Then the entire quesadilla and its sides were gone and I felt fine. I began to wonder if I'd ever been in ketosis at all. If the reason I never suffered keto flu was that I was mistaken, getting false positives on the strips, losing solely by calorie restriction.
I was full after the first burrito. The food wasn't delicious. Before I'd begun, I'd hoped that I would become instantly sick; so wracked with fever and nausea that I'd never want to do this again. Instead, I was utterly normal. Just full.
So I started eating ice cream. It lit up my brain. This motherfucker is indescribable. I have to think it was the flavor, rather than the mere fact that it was ice cream. A simple vanilla would not have been so amazing, it was the texture in as equal part as any. I do not enjoy writing this kowtowing appraisal of sugar, but were anything to draw me back to it, it was this perfect pint.
The sickness began. I could not finish, or even complete by half, the final burrito. It wasn't tempting. Nauseated, and experiencing a feeling that must have been stomach cramping, I left for the bathroom.
Returning, I got further down in the ice cream, leaving less than a third of it before the pain became too great. The final spoonfuls, taken as I was trying to quickly clean up so that I could lie down and let this not unlooked-for illness dissipate, were comedic. They tasted so good and became bullets as they traveled down my esophagus. I cachinnated as I gestured, alone, to my mouth and then to my stomach, indicating the bliss upstairs and the pain below.
I threw what was left out. For the rest of the day I considered digging them out of the trash bin. Didn't.
The frustration is not being entirely sure if the pain was entirely from exiting my seven month ketogenic state or simply from binge eating. It's really been since 2010 that I've eaten classically - that is, to the point of physical pain and exhaustion.
I am indeed out of ketosis. For the first time, the strip was entirely unresponsive to my licentious urine's advances.
My weight stayed exactly the same.
I am currently high on ephedrine and caffeine. A half-pill of both, eliciting a slight rush, a modestly elevated pulse, but no true palpitations or jitters. I feel sharp. And more, I feel as though I've unnaturally recovered from the depression with which I woke this morning. I admit, I'm enticed. Though, perhaps the Jekyll & Hyde link belongs here more than there.