Eight Feet Deep

It seems fit­ting that today is Fat Tuesday.

My stom­ach has seemed to dis­agree with me dur­ing the after­noon. I won­der if it was the cheese­burger and fries I had for lunch? Not that I plan on giv­ing up C-burger and fries for Lent. I just fell off the wagon.

Since learn­ing of my appar­ent Type II dia­betes I have started diet­ing some­what. I say some­what because my med­ical per­son­nel at the VA haven’t told me squat about what kind of diet I should be fol­low­ing. I have had to take a crash course in dia­betic chowol­ogy from the Inter­net and books. So I am not fol­low­ing any one course other than try­ing to eat less at one meal, eat­ing health­ier, eat­ing non-fattening and lower carb snacks.

So far it seems to be work­ing. As of Sat­ur­day I had lost eight pounds in two weeks. For some rea­son this morn­ing when I woke up, my stom­ach felt smaller than nor­mal. Maybe the diet doc­tors vis­ited me dur­ing REM sleep. Plus, this pair of dress pants I wore to work today, a larger size than what I had been wear­ing, could use a belt where a week ago it felt tight.

I feel like some­thing must be work­ing although I am not at all pleased with the stom­ach upset. Hope­fully it will go away soon. Maybe after I snack on some cel­ery and car­rots dipped in fat free ranch dress­ing. It’s not bad as a snack. Ditto for Chee­rios. Well, maybe not today.

At least I haven’t reached the Kevin Smith point yet, where I would need to pur­chase two seats on an air­liner. It reminds me of that old fat joke: He was so fat, if he had to haul ass he’d have to make two trips. Not PC, but per­haps there is mean­ing there.