If You're Thinking What I'm Thinking . . .

I'm not so sure my new book The Complete Beck Diet for Life is going to work out. Even without finishing it, I've decided it sounds like a bunch of poppycock - best I can tell.

Basically the premise is that I need to get better at telling the voice in my head how to behave, and then practice listening to it, --the voice in my head. Fancy pants Dr. Beck call this Diet Cognitive Therapy.

Now the voices ~~
(yeah, 'voices.' --figures my voice would have to be a schizo')~
are not that easy to control, first let me just say. I mean they've had the run of things for a very long time and I doubt they are going to want to give that up now --even if I do try talking nice to them.


'Please, please little voices in my head. Can't we stop all this talk of food, and eating too much. Can't we all just get along? Me, you, and Dr. Beck?'
No. And if you keep talking to us like we're a little baby, we're leaving.
'You can't leave.'
Oh yeah? - Watch us.
'Okay, okay. --I'm sorry. Please don't go. I need you in my head. If you leave the only voices left will be Oprah's, Hubby's, Dr. Laura's, and Obama's. --Please, I'm sorry, don't leave.'
Okay than. But don't try anything fancy . . .
and we were wondering, -are we going to visit our new friends soon?

Oh, I should know better than to talk to myself - I'm not reasonable.

And b'sides, --I have bigger problems. The Wednesday morning servers at McDonalds have started thinking that they are my buddies. I don't want to be friends with the employees at McDonalds. I don't want them to recognize me, I don't want to hangout with them, and I don't want to share stories. I just want my hotcakes and diet coke!

Basically, those friends are like my pusher and I'm the junkie! There's no reason to be 'friendly' about it. If the drive-through girl really was a 'friend' - she would slap my hand when I reach out for cholesterol and carbs, --and tell me to go away.

But no. She's a total enabler - and with friends like that . . . well, you know . . .

My 'diet' book promises:
"If you've struggled with dieting in the past, it's only because you never acquired these essential cognitive skills . . . and learned to think differently."
I might as well just cut me off-at-the-pass (cognitively speaking) and tell my brain, "don't start with me!" --Because now I'm noticing Dr. Beck's suggestion would never work anyhow. ---'Cause I'm not someone who's 'struggled' with dieting, 'in the past'; there's nothing 'past' about my struggle at all. My struggle is on a continuous loop . . . like a laughtrack that never ends. The voices in my head have no intention of telling the voices in my head to stop acting like they want to eat.

If reincarnation does exist --in my previous life I was a cow ('cause do they look like they give a heck that all they do is eat and sometimes make milk?) ~~and in the life after this one, I bet I'll be a HomeTown Buffet. It's just my luck. I know it. (And then some bratty girls from my old high school will come in, and one of them will say to me "OmG!! Didn't you use to be Bliss, from our high school?!!)

Ick!!

Okay, okay. I'm not saying I've given up already. I can't. I smell summer, --and some dang pool party hostess is going to demand I get in a bathing suit. (My friend at McDonalds would never demand I do such a thing. She'd just, "There, there now," to me. "Have another quarter-pounder, and don't worry that other people can't look away when they see you in a bathing suit. It's all the more to love, you know? Who wouldn't love you? Huh?? Look at those cheeks!" --Yes. She means those cheeks.


Oh, it's all a mess, I tell you.
My life as a dieter.
I need a good dose of Dieter's Zen.
You know - my happy meal . . . I mean Happy Place!!
Happy place. Happy place. Happy place.