Plates of Lettuce

My first day of recommitting to sugar-free living, yesterday, brought me into a rather pissy state. I was greeted in the faculty room by the aroma of a panful of hot, gooey, gluteny cinnamon rolls, compliments of the cafeteria. Ain't it sweet how we offer gifts that lead to ill health and bloated bodies? I walked on by like the good girl I can be, but not without a little tantrum from my inner 2nd grader. No fair! How come everybody else gets to eat cinnamon rolls? This sucks. At lunch my salad, which included almonds for good fat and protein, sounded really boring. I didn't want it. Lack of desire to go out was the only thing motivating me to sit down and eat the damn thing. At the table was a homemade lemon merengue pie. No again. Everyone else seems happy with their sugar-fest, why not me? Wah, wah, wah. At home my dinner of Buffalo tempeh (steamed tempeh covered in sugar-free hot wing sauce then baked) gave me some comfort. The high protein made me feel full, the spice convinced me I haven't consigned myself to a life of bland gustatory experience, and the steamed broccoli was sweet enough to keep me from scheming for ways to get a dessert in that wouldn't constitute cheating. I still felt pretty irritable, just not hungry and irritable.

The sun rose this morning, in spite of how the universe had conspired to make me miserable. I took it slow and easy, sitting awhile with my cat watching the light move across the tops of trees and through the blades of grass. I felt solid. Later at school I ate a balanced lunch with greens and some beans for plant-based protein. My big iced green tea was nicely bitter and I was satisfied. No fits until the faculty end-of-year dinner. The school secretary had offered (I didn't ask) to buy me, the resident vegetarian, a nice, delicious salad in lieu of the meaty fare ordered up for everyone else. I'd been looking forward to it. But, and this is totally understandable, she got so swamped printing out report cards and helping teachers square away their financial accounts, that she forgot to place the order. The regular menu included a green salad, white dinner rolls, mashed potatoes, roast beef with mushrooms, thick slabs of homemade fruit pie a la mode. To add tragedy to my already sad options, I got in line late. By the time I reached the salad, the one with the chunks of radish, cauliflower and broccoli had been served out and the caterers refilled with a big bag of Costco lettuce. Lettuce. I filled a plate with Romaine and a shred or two of carrot, squeezed a little onion dressing on the top and sat down with my colleagues. Well, yeah, I whined inside, but I drew on what little grasp I have of meditative presence, breathed and questioned the accuracy of my perceptions.  No conspiracy. It was even a little amusing to sit and watch my bruised ego bemoan the fact that it couldn't get no satisfaction. (Everybody else got some!) And I also knew that I was good just where I was, and OK not eating the rolls or potatoes or pie.

It's an uncertain business looking for dietary balance. It's a matter of intuition and changing, shifting needs and circumstances. But it isn't a tragedy. Tonight I'm feeling pretty good. I've got a date tomorrow morning with Odo to watch the sun rise, I'll spend the last morning with this year's 2nd graders, do a little clean-up in the classroom, then let the summer begin. I've got a new road bike awaiting its maiden voyage, yoga classes, family vacation, and a little space between me and a nasty habit. If that's not nice, I don't know what is.