Some Disturbing Shit

So the lunchtime blog hasn’t gotten much attention this week because, well, I’ve been too busy to take lunch. That’s ok, by the time you get done reading this post, you probably won’t have much of an appetite either.

So it’s no secret that since Jenn and I started dating we’ve put on more than a few pounds. As most of my friends know, before Jenn, (should I start calling that “B.J.”? Um… probably not) I was on a perpetual diet just to keep the sluggish Copeland metabolism in check. A few weeks ago, after my darling wife gave a stirring speech about how “enough is enough” and “we need to get up off of our big fat asses”, I decided to do the low carb thing one more time. While I know it’s out of fad, and everyone tells me it’s unhealthy, it’s the only thing that’s ever worked for me and being overweight is even unhealthier, so there you go.

Jenn is one of those anti-low carb folks, so she decided to do her own thing. For example, last night, she had KFC chicken strips. So much for stirring speeches.

The best thing about the Atkin’s diet is that it really does leave you less hungry. Once you’re on it a few weeks you hit this stride that makes it pretty damn easy to maintain.

The bad thing about Atkins? The first two weeks. You see, to get to that “not hungry” euphoria, your system has to pretty much reprogram how it’s been digesting things. This can affect people differently, for example, last time I was a bit blocked up, while this time I’m in the bathroom several times a day with highly volatile ass butter.

Now this would be bad if I lived alone… it’s worse now that I live with someone with an uber-sensitive sniffer and a genuine curiosity for what’s going on at all times. I’m often met in the hallway as I sneak out of the bathroom for the third time with “so what exactly is going on in there? Are you ok?”

Sweet jesus… am I ok? Doesn’t she know that it’s better not to talk about it? (far better to blog about it days later) Yeah, I know she’s just worried about me, but there isn’t anything worse then admitting stomach issues. I’d almost rather come back with “Oh yeah… I’m just pounding one out before bedtime. *yawn* No worries” then try and explain what’s really going on.

Now why am I mentioning this “too much information” topic? Because the other big thing that’s been going on in my life is that I’ve been having some sizably fucked up dreams. Now normally, my dreams are pretty dark, twisted, and, well, inspiration for lots of my art. My subconscious will run wild scenarios that will show me the darker side of my nature, how difficult it is for me to really let things go, and most of all, just how tarnished my self image truly is.

The problem is when these two issues collide.

For example, the other night I was dreaming that I was going through an old, dilapidated mansion with Jenn and an old friend of mine. Actually, they were wisely staying on the porch while I snuck in to get some pictures. As I went into the house I was on the prowl for my real goal, a bathroom. Disturbingly there wasn’t one on the first two floors, so I had to go up to the third. The attic area that I knew, in the way that you just know things in dreams, was way haunted. As I got up there, the air became stale and there was a pile of antique dolls with their eyes plucked and shattered in the corner. On the wall across from them there was glowing blue writing in a language I didn’t understand and the voice of a child began to read the text in an equally unintelligible language. A pair of candles lit on a table in the center of the room and they danced with eerie shadows as several other voices began to recite more cryptic passages. But in the candlelight I spotted an open door. The open door of a working bathroom. So I said to the spirits, “I’m sorry to interrupt. I really am. But I really gotta use your bathroom.”

Moments later, the alarm clock went off.