Back in the old days of this blog, I wrote about how the gigantic portions of restaurants and society at large was too much for my slim cowpoke body. And this continues to be true, but there has recently been a change in my living situation that altered everything. I don't know if it was sudden so much as it was the 3rd time in as many weeks where I was told I looked thin (more than usual and/or healthy) that I started to review my weekday eating schedule:
Breakfast: I'm asked on a regular basis from Smiley if I want to "eat breakfast" with Sweet Pea...this is usually limited to 4 spoon-fulls of cereal while trying to occupy her attention span. An orange or something else can be brought to work, though not eaten leisurely as one would surmise.
Lunch: Did I use the word "leisurely?" While I am fortunate to visit everyone at home due to sheer LA Luck, and having "lunch" with the Pea is an absolute highlight, my own eating time is condensed to roughly 5 minutes. You couldn't even enjoy a beer in that amount of time. Not that I'd know, of course.
Cocktail Hour: "Do you want to watch her while you have a snack?" Another non-question question, as I get in as many chips, crackers, or handfuls of popcorn I can while playing on the floor with the little lady.
7:45/8PM: "Are you exhausted? I bet you feel like cooking and making an elaborate dinner from scratch! You don't?" Who would? And, be that as it may, whatever's easiest to eat, to get the job done, there it is. Tired, I dream of an extravagant steak dinner. And repeat.
Beyond becoming Potsy, I'm not sure how to properly solve this dilemma. Snacking helps but only to exist in a "next?" kind of assembly line. There's a lunch wagon that sneaks between Rodeo and Beverly, but one can only eat so many burritos. It's a problem to word carefully around here, too: tell someone you lack energy and they'll give you Daffy Dust.
