Stacking low-calorie frozen dinners in the freezer like some slightly mis-measured Tetris game, all I can think is “How many chemicals are in this shit?” and about whether the end justifies the means in this situation. Convincing myself it does, I continue to stack the meals into the four-foot by two foot tundra. They keep falling out.
For all my growing ups truly malfunctioning dysfunctional funk, I was around the hippy atmosphere. We put the funk in dysfunctional. I learned about the terrible detriments of planetary pollution, inner pollution for our physical bodies and emotional, mental and soul pollution (that’s kind of hysterical in its dichotomy and hypocrisy considering everything I write about.). Eating this kind of food causes a lot of anxiety that eventually will lead to my breaking away from the style out of fear and guilt. It’s not a sustained eating pattern, it isn’t possible for me. This is why I’ve always secretly abandoned it in the past. The fear of the damage from the foreign, alien substances far outweigh my fear of butter and fructose. However, my surgeon knows what needs to be done for this surgery to be successful. I certainly do not have even a smidgen of his knowledge. My blood pressure medication isn’t a “natural substance” and yet I take it for the urgency of saving my life. So, for the time frames of preparing for surgery, healing from surgery, I will temporarily live on man-made foods getting my body ready for being able to consume small amounts of the right foods in the right amounts of protein and other nutrients that are naturally grown and made. For those same reasons. I will do the time.
On Monday I begin the pre-surgery diet. My memory is scattered and full of holes, like Swiss cheese. Erroneously, I thought, not only that it started Wednesday, but that it was all liquid, save for one low-calorie meal. Actually, there is also allowed three cups of raw vegetables daily, also. That’s so much easier because this Thursday … the entire day is spent out, 40 miles from home with health testing at nine am, pre-surgery classes at one until four. If it was all liquids with no car, place to relax or crash in between, it would blow. Sitting in public doing nothing looking like I’m cool with it, I meant to do this whole lot of nothing, what are you looking at? … all the while my stomachs growling would definitely make me lose my groove.
The amount of things going on, besides the surgery as well as the surgery prep, my normal health issues, too many to name and too boring to drag you through, have me doing this kind of sliding dance and getting by on luck, friends memories, help and the skin of my teeth. It’s a dance, really. I’m terrified something is going to cause a major S.N.A.F.U. and the house of cards will come tumbling down, making us start all over again from the beginning. There’s no room for error. The twenty-ninth is approaching fast and, honestly, I’m apprehensive. I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid. It’s hard to “have the smoove” to keep your “funk” when you’re scared shitless. The support system around me is phenomenal, how any one person is so blessed with such amazing people is beyond me. I certainly didn’t earn such great family or friends. My therapist and counseling network is stellar. What they are doing with a dysfunctional, malfunctioning fat gurelle funky monkey, I have no idea, but thank God for them all, each and every one.
Thank God for each and every one of you. I wish you guys could go over this list with me and see if I missed anything or just break out in a little funk with some Parliament with me.