Fast Food is the Work of the Devil
Sunday, March 03, 2013
I should have known something was up when the drive-thru worker laughed maniacally and passed me the bag of "food" on the end of a pitchfork. I mean, that's just not something one sees every day. Those golden arches clearly have a hidden meaning, my friends.
Now, I put food from an establishment of this nature in quotes because I have come to discover that the likelihood any of these products originally came from something alive and not lab created is diminishing rapidly. I refuse to call places like this restaurants; that implies preparation and cooking of products with actual nutritional value. And my friend the organic chef would murder me. No joke. I do not want to run afoul of anyone who knows how to that many different kitchen knives.
But back to the connection between fast food and Satan.
It is truly insidious how the siren call of highly caloric, fried, aggressively fatty, salty food is so sweet. I mean, I have gotten through all of February effectively detoxing my body from the crappy diet I had let myself sink into from being sick for so long. I have been feeling great, except for my appetite going in really weird peaks and valleys where I can go from totally full to practically starving in an insanely short period of time (I suspect that this is just a natural side effect of how, er, streamlined my digestive system is now and have mostly combated the effects by nibbling throughout the day and evening). To be honest, I've been so happy and grateful that my pain and discomfort has been effectively reduced by more than 70% solely through diet change, that I haven't felt any urge to eat junk or processed food. I felt clean and healthy (physically anyway, and that's a hell of a blessing, considering).
Even today was great, for the most part - Kirk and I managed to get to the Farmer's Market in Santa Monica (which promptly reminded me why I dislike going to the Promenade), we walked along the world's greatest sight in nature, the Pacific ocean, talked and laughed, I stocked us up on fresh fruits and veggies for the week and made us some killer sandwiches for lunch. I took a nap because I was exhausted (my insomnia has been awful this past week - lucky if I get four hours of sleep together) and when I woke up my energy was just gone. As in, Elvis has left the building.
And that's when Satan spoke through my husband, a slightly disturbing experience.
"You know, I'm going to have to get up at 5:30 tomorrow so I can be on set at 7 and you're exhausted. Take a night off from cooking and I'll just grab McDonald's."
Now, for the past month I have adamantly and vociferously negated even the mere mention of fast food, but for some reason, the sweet sound of "McDonald's" snuck into the Pandora's box of my brain and kicked off the lid.
"sure, why not? I'm probably going to regret this, but I just cannot get up the energy to do something healthy right now."
Famous last words.
I'm not going to lie - I ate every bite and it was delicious. Bizarrely. It was like I had never had fast food before; every taste was new, strange, exciting, and with a vague after taste of chemicals. Not unlike the first time a kid tries smoking and just as unhealthy.
For about half an hour, I seriously thought I had escaped any consequences from this action and that worried me a little. In the past, whenever I've given in like that and there are no physical repercussions, I find my willpower crumbling away slowly but surely, a cliff of good intentions reduced to sand by the waves of temptation.
That's when I stood up to get some water and felt like I had simultaneously had swallowed a bowling ball while a surgeon was attempted to gouge it out with a rusty spoon and no anesthetic. To say I'm in pain right now would be a mild understatement, roughly equivalent to saying that the activation of the sequester might have a slight effect on our economy.
Pain sucks, I don't think I really need to spell that out for anyone, but for me it always brings on an edge of hysterical terror. I mean, the last time I had pain of this nature, I ended the night hemorrhaging internally and throwing up blood before I slipped into a coma. I wish that was an exaggeration like my other descriptions. It's not.
It is incredibly difficult to stay calm right now and while I take full ownership and responsibility for making this decision, this is far beyond anything I anticipated. Discomfort? Yes. Bloating? Almost certainly. A nasty emotional cocktail of distress, regret, anger, and self-recrimination? C'mon, are Catholics Pope-less?!
But not this. NOT this.
I have flashbacks of that night. They're less frequent as time goes on, but when they do happen, they are visceral and terrifying. Besides hysterical crying and screaming, I have been known to bite, scratch, and bruise myself or people around me when it happens, and I have NO recollection of it afterward. It happened in the middle of the night just a few days ago. So when stuff like this happens, concern for my safety is kinda paramount. Ugh.
This was meant to be a lighthearted piece about how I have had it PROVEN to me that my body will not and CANNOT tolerate food of this nature anymore, but now I just want to cry and make this pain go away. I really pray this doesn't end with yet another visit to an emergency room. There is something fundamentally f*cked up that something as commonplace as a stomach ache can literally put me in the hospital for days or weeks at a time. However, if this goes into a third or fourth hour, I'm not going to have a choice, such is the precarious nature of my health.
In short, I just hope this serves to illustrate the following association for the rest of my life:
Fast food = Hellish pain
Yeah, thanks Satan. Got it. Bastard.