Missing Out

I wrote in one of my earliest posts about hitting the wall at work. If it’s possible to hit the wall while on a diet, I did it today.

OK, maybe it was just a half wall, or one of those doors you see on TV but never actually in someone’s real house, where the top and bottom open separately. My thump today didn’t result in tears, as the one at work did, or bring any profound realizations on my part.

Well, other than the fact that this diet sucks. But we already knew that much.

We’ve had a perfectly respectable holiday food weekend: short ribs yesterday (more to come on those in a later post); the prize-winning black bean and corn salad for today’s lunch, and BBQ chicken and grilled veggies for dinner. And, as is right on a holiday weekend, there have been plenty of cocktails, from the mimosas we toasted with before the neighborhood parade this morning to the late afternoon margaritas.

But when I went to the grocery store this afternoon–because I’m at the grocery store more days than not right now–I ran smack into Giant’s remote fish counter, stocked full of clams and mussels and huge crab legs and other kinds of seafood that I can’t recall right now because I needed to walk away, fast.

Now three weeks into this blasted diet, that trip to the grocery store reminded me of everything I want to be eating, but I’m not. And that people at cookouts all across America are piling their plates high with cheeseburgers in commercially prepared rolls, potato salad made with salt-laden mustard, and cakes made with eggs and topped with Cool Whip.

Yup, I’m jealous.

I know it’s not a pretty emotion. I’ve done a reasonably good job keeping it in check over the past three weeks, helped no doubt by being out of work, and having B craving pizza right alongside me. But today, just for a little bit, I couldn’t help but give in to the self-pity. I miss eating with my friends. I miss not cooking three meals a day, plus snacks. I miss the 4th of July we had years ago, when we stayed in and watched the fireworks while eating a huge pot of steamers.

And I know, too, that this too shall pass. Bad times don’t last, and this is no different. Only 12 days to go. I haven’t let myself think yet about what that first non-LID meal will be. Right now I’m instead looking toward next Friday, when good friends are hosting an LID cookoff at which I get to serve as judge. I need to concentrate on channeling my inner Padma.

“Low iodine diet, please pack your knives and go.”

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