February 27, 2014
I've been doing a good job at controlling my cravings for sweets. My usual Starbucks order of a grande iced coffee with soymilk, sweetened with caramel, hazelnut, toffee nut or pumpkin spice [depending on my mood or the season] has turned into a tall iced coffee with soymilk - unsweetened. I've been having my green tea without honey, and I've been buying natural peanut butter that doesn't list sugar as one of the ingredients - the kind you have to stir because the oil will otherwise sit at the top. This also means I haven't had dessert, of any kind in quite a while.
Then came Sunday.
February 26, 2014
That rice trick works.
Moral of the story: always keep rice in your kitchen.
February 24, 2014
It was a regular Friday afternoon, except for the fact that I had been drinking more water than usual. I'm trying to get my recommended 64 ounce intake every day, and since 64 ounces is about 32 ounces more than I usually consume, my bladder is still adjusting. This means I'm running to the nearest bathroom every 30 minutes like I belong in an overactive bladder commercial. This also means if I try to hold it in while I'm running errands because I don't want to use a public restroom, I'll be sprinting to my toilet once I finally get back home. That's exactly what happened this past Friday.
February 17, 2014
Saturday was supposed to be a productive day in my world. The plan was to wake up around 8am, head to yoga, come home and shower, clean my place, tackle the stacks of laundry piled up in my closet, write a couple articles for work, meet moms for dinner and head downtown to party with my cousins that evening. From that list, the only things that happened were the shower and the party. I managed to spend my entire afternoon on the couch in front of the tv (visual aid), and I have not one regret. Being in "go" mode all the time might be good for the hustle, but it's not the move for my soul. I have a whole little section of this blog carved out for posts about love, and I didn't even have the time/energy to pop up a Valentine's Day post of some sort.
Sunday afternoon was spend downtown with a few friends. We parked and walked through Centennial Olympic Park, and I was reminded how nice the area looks when the sun is shining and the fountains are flowing. It looks even nicer now that there's a 200ft tall ferris wheel in the mix. Looking back, I wish I would've taken advantage of this amazing study space when I lived nearby on the Georgia State campus.
February 5, 2014
If someone had told me a few years ago that I'd be having lettuce wraps for dinner in the future, and enjoying them, I'd expect myself to turn into the cleanest eater I could have ever imagined. But, I'm not the cleanest eater out there, and I did have/enjoy the lettuce wraps I made for dinner last night. I can't even bring myself to stick to the 80/20 rule when it comes to nutritional decisions. I'll be doing great during the day, but at night? The food freak comes out at night.
A few weeks ago, I made a full breakfast [eggs, grits, turkey sausage, AND waffles] at 12:30am. I was literally shaking my head at the clock while I cranked up the stove. I do that - tell myself I could do better as I continue to not do better. Waffle House had nothing on me that night. Then I probably had a protein shake for my actual "start-the-day" breakfast later on and made something healthy like lettuce wraps for dinner that night... then ate way too many cookies or had too many glasses of wine that evening.
It's a wicked little cycle, but I love it. Kinda like going to the grocery store on an empty stomach and buying stuff you wouldn't otherwise purchase, but then feeling happy and satisfied once everything is safely tucked away in your kitchen. The day after a grocery store visit? Possibilities are endless. Seriously though, nothing makes me feel more in control of my life than knowing I can have ice cream for breakfast if I darn well please, and it's times like last night, when I opt for a large leaf of romaine instead of a flour tortilla and stop myself at one glass of Riesling, that I really feel like patting myself on the back.