(no subject)

Yesterday, I ate only 3 grams of fat, and I feel better than I have in months, even better than I felt before I got sick (which makes me think gall bladder). And I even have my period, which definitely aggravates my stomach and intestines in every way.

Thank god for Snackwells, angel food cake, and those panda snack things. I hope my life won't be like this forever. The thought of never eating coconut ice again is enough to possibly send me into hysterics, but mostly, I'm pretty zen right now, because this is such a positive change.

I think I was poisoning myself and didn't even know it. I mean, before I got sick, I'm realizing I was easily eating 50 grams of fat a day, if not more (I'm sure some days it was twice that and then some, with the way I eat cured meats and cheeses). It boggles the mind.

ETA: Of course, we'll see if this continues to be the case, as it's hard to judge what my body is doing at all while I'm on the rag, but I definitely feel different.

hah!

I almost just accosted a perfect stranger.

He was dining alone at the awful health food restaurant near my office. Well, he'd finished dining and was mucking about in his wallet. He seemed tall with with more shoulders than one has any right to expect from a man with a face like a knife. No, that's not really fair either; like me, he had a lot of face, and if you looked at each feature individually, particularly the nose, you'd say it was certainly too big for the rest of a face, except they were all like that, and so it was balanced, in its way. He had long black hair, not goth black, just like normal human black hair, pulled back in something silver. I tend to unprefer long hair on reality-based men, as they never keep it well, and it always seems some dry, brittle compensation for something else equally uninteresting. This was not that, nor did it seem a particular vanity. He was in dark clothes, I wouldn't quite say a suit, although I suppose it technically was, and again, not goth, although a goth would appreciate -- it made me think of the way I dress, as if there is a proper way of doing things, and it comes from some amalgam of worlds lost and never existed. And he was so fucking unselfconscious. No vanity and no Tina-the-troubled-teen-I-should-have-stopped-being-a-goth-twenty-years-ago bullshit. Of course, the man was merely lost in looking for something in his wallet, who knows how fucking insufferable he might actually be in any moment of non-distraction. But I really, really had to stop myself from marching right into that restaurant and plopping myself down at his table, folding my arms, elbows and all, on the table and proclaiming "hello" in the chirpiest way possible and then asking, without insinuation, "where did you come from?" as if I were the Hermione-ish Mary Sue of some truly dreadful romantic comedy. It was very strange, faintly amusing, and one of the odder moments of exercising self-control I've had in a while. Most notable, really, is how close I came to failing.