Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Watering: Relapse

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.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Watering: Anus Burger, Lists, Hebdomadal

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.

Butter on peanut butter toast. I should have lost a hundred pounds by now, but I haven't. I was within one-fifth of a pound of doing so (technically), then bounced back up. This is excruciating.

Broccoli casserole, with mozzarella. I've been eating more calories now that I've started lifting. At first I lost anyway, so I thought it was OK. Now I don't know what to think. It's only going to get harder to force myself under twelve hundred while I continue to stall.

I asked my father for fiber supplements and he got me fiber laxatives, which, well, good. I never could have asked him for those. Of anything, they're probably to credit for the bout of loss. It's time to talk to him about EC stacking, if I'm going to just start shoveling pills into me in the hopes of them expelling fat out of me.

I wanted to get through the last of my regular cream cheese, so that's old school chicken stuffed with it. Don't know that I'll ever crack the nut of getting perfectly crispy bacon wrapped around it without breaking. Lifting weight has been all right. The equipment is not correct, but the chat was actually pretty ameliorating when I confessed how infantilized I felt by having my father influence my purchase so wholly. I'm very discouraged and confused.

Chicken, spinach and an egg. Frozen spinach has really become a true friend. It seems like the Deus Ex plate effect wasn't so anomalous. Only makes me want to play the game again, but I've got too much else to play.

I know that for a fact, now. Instead of doing real work, I made a list of every game I own but have not finished. Then I made a list of every game I do not own but want to either play or finish. Then I added every game I've finished but want to play again. Then finally, every game yet unreleased that I want to play. Organized by priority, alphabetically, alphabetically, and by release time, respectively. As I tweeted, making the list put me into a crisis of mortality. I will be dead before I ever find the time or will to play Ben There, Dan That.

I love making lists, though. The next day, I finally tried to list every game I've ever played by year. Still going. Doubtlessly losing many SNES platformers rented from Blockbuster in the aphotic recesses of my memory, and those games I do remember under the wrong year, but I'll forgive myself. Writing the list kept me oscillating between nostalgic misery and that old, comforting blanket of hobby.

For posterity (posteriority), the beef anus I made after seeing a life tip to poke a hole in your burger to keep it from shrinking or something. I also mixed this with ranch seasoning, so while it looked a mess, it was modestly watershed. Mixing the beef before cooking it improved the texture, and I also baked it in the oven, leaving me a lot of gravy to pour on the spinach.

Butterfish, which tastes better than it smells (after cooking it in two tablespoons of actual butter, obviously). I stopped writing weekly for The Player Character. Reading old Seasonal Lags, there was no comparison. I need time to work to my potential, and I'm also very lazy. I feel genuinely indebted to the other staff now that I'm not holding myself to their same standard, but for what it's worth, writing news came easily today. I do feel slightly unburdened. And I feel more optimistic about future Player Character projects. I do wish that I did have it in me to offer hebdomadal spiels at a consistent quality, but that wish is nowhere near as powerful as my wish to not bother.

I fucking went for it and added water to the second peanut butter bread batter, stupidly doing it straight from the faucet so I couldn't even see how much I'd added. Whatever. It paid off. The bread didn't rise significantly higher, but its texture is extremely breadlike. That's a ham, mayonnaise, and provolone sandwich. If you were physically (or emotionally) unable to taste peanut butter, you'd never know the difference.