Danger Will Robinson, Danger!

Holy batcrap, Batman! Last night I went to this awards dinner for a friend and the food and wine kept coming...and coming...and coming... I admit it, I ate the hell out of that food. If the food was an enemy army, I not only defeated it, but laughed in the face of it's useless whimpers for mercy. It was amazingly delicious, but at the end of it I was...unimpressed? That's not quite the word that I'm thinking of, but by the end of the meal I got hit with a wave of "this is so not worth it". I'll admit...ever since I've decided to do this surgery I've kinda had an "enjoy it now, within reason, Mr Stomach (I have no idea why my stomach is a dude, since I'm a woman, but eh) 'cause you are gonna be a trim, slim, mushy eating machine soon." Of course, this doesn't give me carte blanche to gorge myself into insensibility...but I did find myself pleased that I'm starting to separate food and emotions. Yeah, it was good (read: scrumptious) but on the scale of "Delcious food vs Lyra's Awesome Life Waiting To Happen" it falls short. Very short. It also isn't as emotionally fulfilling as it used to be. Perhaps it's because I'm taking this step forward to change my life that I've started feeling this way. I still enjoy great food (see pig-like actions above) but it's now more about the taste than "I feel so sad/depressed/angry/bored lets eat a cheeto" that I was (not) rocking before.

So, porky pig-like actions are a thumbs down, but who would have thought an awards banquet would bring about some self-realization? Now I need to go walk a couple of miles and do some (a lot of) "I was a bad, bad Lyra" pilates.