Day Fifty: Is Being Healthy Making Me Sick?

There is nothing quite like waking up in the morning and feeling perfectly fine, and two hours later being freezing, shaking, and nauseous. To make the experience better, there is also nothing like barfing in a public restroom. And if that's fun, then it's absolutely a blast to have to stop the car at the end of your street and open the door and ralph on the street, and your hair, as someone walks by walking their dog.

Needless to say, I did not have the most epic of Mondays.

I came home and slept for three hours, ate a piece of toast, went back to bed for another hour, ate some fruit, and sat around until dinner. So far, so good.

But for someone who doesn't get sick more than a bad cold twice a year, I've been feeling pretty crappy lately. It's only a month and a half into the year, and I've already used two and a half of my sick days. Fantastic. But it makes me a little worried. What have I been doing lately that's been making me so sick? This week, I've been really watching what I eat, so I'm thinking that maybe it's making my immune system a little weaker. Although the logic may not make sense, if I'm eating healthier but not eating well, I might not be giving myself any vitamins I need. A chocolate chip cookie might not be healthy, but it's giving me vitamin C from the orange zest, at least.

This isn't the first time this has happened to me. Last time I got pretty sick, I was on another health kick, just before Christmas. Naturally, I gave up my no-sugar kick at the holidays when fudge and cookies filled the house and I wanted to actually enjoy my holidays, so I put the health-kick on hold. But why everytime I eat healthy do I get un-healthy? Am I doing something wrong?

Day Twelve: I Am All-Accepting, Non-Discriminatory, Easily-Pleased and Undereducated Foodie

Although a lot of things make me pretty happy, like writing, drawing, and reading, my two absolute favorite pastimes probably happen to be the least constructive of all the things I do: eating and sleeping. Actually, the only thing that rivals the feeling of laying snug in bed, drifting lazily in and out of consciousness to the quiet sounds of pipes or footsteps, and awaking drowsily surrounded by a warm mass of soft fabric, is tasting glorious, glorious food. I love sleeping, but I really love eating. 

I am one of those people that will never turn down free food if it looks safe and clean. I love tastes of all kinds: sweet, savory, tangy, spicy, slightly unusual, or rustic and classical. I will try just about anything at least twice, as long as it isn't some strange part of an animal that performed a function other than working with bones to move it around. I was blessed by having a superhero-like metabolism to keep up with my constant eating, as I usually get hungry every three hours anyway, yet I'm still underweight for my height and age. But it isn't just the physical eating that makes my hobby so enthralling. I am constantly, and probably unhealthily, thinking about food. If I'm not watching Food Network, I'm reading recipes and food magazines. And if I had more money, I would likely cook constantly, even though I'm not fantastic at the process (I yield great results, I just burn myself as much as possible and fill the house with smoke). I'm fascinated by the way different tastes blend together and melt to create something wholly different. So why aren't I a chef? 

To be honest, I have no idea. Mostly, it's because I didn't embark upon my food obsession until after I was already out of college, and secondly, I would hate the long hours, and I handle stress about as well as a chihuahua with ADHD. Sure, I could cater or work in a bakery, but I'm not sure I love cooking enough. In fact, I don't particularly love cooking at all. I cook things I really want to eat. It's the eating I love. 

I thought for awhile about being a food writer, but most food writers need to know more than a fair amount about cooking, and I can't even make a proper egg over-easy half the time I try. I'm not a bad cook -- I just lack the practice and the knowledge. Besides, I feel like it would be a little difficult for me to pick apart the subtle nuances of food when I'm easily impressed by some cream cheese on a sesame water cracker. If a well-educated chef served me filet mignon with Roquefort sauce and shrimp ceviche, I wouldn't be able to pick a thing wrong with it if it wasn't burnt or raw. I just love food too much to care. I'm not a purist either, if it's good, it's good. I don't really care if it's at it's peak of perfection or freshness. Sure, it's nice and probably ten times better, and that's great, but I'm not going to get my panties in a twist about it. I would be an awful food writer. 

So I'll be content with eating, and may my metabolism always be lightning fast. Either that, or may a gym with a cheap membership always be nearby.