Southern Comfort

I have to overhaul my entire way of eating.  I realize that my cooking expertise is a familial curse.  After cooking yesterday and tasting, (my taste buds inundated with what they've grown to label as delicious) I looked at my cuisine and labeled it diabetes in a pot.  God knows I want my health.  I deserve it even.

I purchased some index cards to begin to interview my characters for a book I am working on, but I began to write my truths.

I had to admit my finances suffer with a bout of anorexia.  They haven't been healthy for years.  I realize I am guilty of surrounding myself with people who take instead of giving.  I am always uplifting, never uplifted.

I take on the burdens of others to free myself from looking upon my own.  It has grown old.  I am staring my truth down.

I sat at my mother's counter on Sunday morning, watching how she carefully went about cooking her beef roast, candied yams, mac & cheese, and salad.  The smells in the kitchen danced through out and my mind began to wonder how my mother would cook a Mediterranean meal and how vast would her knowledge be of healthy foods to save her own life.

Today, I ate nothing.  I snuck a piece of skirt steak that I was cooking for my son and my husband yesterday.  This sent me on a vomit binge.  Today, I was to week and tired to even try to eat.  So, I close the night with water and veggies...