I give up. I give in. I am throwing in the towel. I've had enough. I'm exhausted thinking about dieting. Does thinking about it use up calories??? I know what I want. I just cannot seem to accomplish it. I am going to blame this all on my parents. It seems to me that kids who grew up in households where food was not an integral part of every moment of the day....those people seem to be weight stable most of their lives. This is just a casual observation. Nothing scientific. My parents were not like that. My mother was an excellent cook. And we ate something different every night. Always cooked from scratch. Always very tasty. My mother baked-coffee cakes, cheesecakes, cookies, pies, mile high chocolate cakes. My father had been a cook in the army (WW II) so he took over in the kitchen once in a while. He made the best spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread. I almost forgot about the garlic bread. Fabulous. My mother's specialty was fried chicken served with homemade potato salad and homemade cole slaw. That chicken was sooooo good when it was cold. At midnight. A little snack. And then there was the ice cream. Always ice cream in the freezer. Big containers. And the candy. Lots of candy around the house. And nuts. We all loved nuts. Bread. Butter. Real butter. Whole milk. All the fat! We ate the skin on chicken and my mother didn't trim her rib steaks to remove the fat. Lovely food. All the time. Frig always full.
How can I overcome that??? How can my taste buds forget the deliciousness of my childhood food memories? Now if my parents really loved me (!), they would have served broiled fish and steamed veggies. Then I wouldn't have cravings for crunchy crusty fried foods. Or creamy cold sweet ice cream. I wouldn't dream about french fries and chocolate covered strawberries.
So I give up. For today. For this minute. But not forever.