Let’s Talk About That Muffin…

… You know, that muffin. The muffin in Mom’s fridge calling my name. Well, first it was whispering; I ignored it. Then it started singing; it was off-key so I still ignored it. Now it’s calling quite insistently. It’s been all day like this. The battle. The conflict. Exhausting.

My cooking skills are better than my photography skills; promise.

My cooking skills are better than my photography skills; promise.

Here’s the thing I just realized a few moments ago: I don’t really want the damn muffin. I want the mushrooms, onions and zucchini I plan to saute lightly, season just right and chow down. But I keep thinking about the muffin. The muffin I don’t really want.

The bargaining: Do I have enough points? (I do not, having had pizza earlier this week which was followed by a binge the same night during which I ate ALL of my weekly points.) I should have enough points, one muffin is only (only!) 13 points. (That’s half the damn day!) If I just eat lightly the rest of the day, I should have enough points.

The denial: Won’t that muffin lead to a melt-down? Most likely. No, I won’t melt down this time; I’ll really just have that muffin. Okay, maybe, two. Wait, that’s 26 points and I’m done for the day. No oil for my sautéed veggies. Okay, you’re right, no muffin.

A chorus of muffins.

A chorus of muffins.

Banana Nut, Chocolate Chip or Blueberry? And around we go again! 

I really truly do not want the muffin. So why am I still thinking about it? This would be a great question to explore at a Geneen Roth retreat, but I don’t have time for and can’t afford that, so I am left to my own devices. Namely, writing it out.

So, Geneen would ask: “How are you feeling?” More specifically, WHAT are you feeling?

I have to say, I am anxious. I have been anxious all week. Happy, and grateful, and exhausted (as always), and… anxious. Our move date is getting closer and more real. We have found the house of our dreams:

But for a day or two (remember that pizza and binge day?), I thought I had announced to the world it was ours, but the owner would change his mind. Probably because in my own mind I don’t believe I “deserve” this house (for reasons I won’t go into just now), I thought the deal would be reversed.

Also, I hate moving. When we moved into our current home, we swore to each other that would be our last move, ever. Apparently, we lied. Life happens. Decisions — both good and bad — are made. Plans change. We adapt. I’m all about change usually, but gearing up for a major move? Anxious just barely begins to describe it.

Yes, I know, it's still junk food.

Yes, I know, it’s still junk food.

So that muffin keeps calling. The tone changes from time to time, shrill, strident, soft, coaxing… for now, I am holding strong. I have written this. I have sautéed my zucchini, mushrooms and onions. I have eaten my cucumber with ranch dressing. I have an Atkins chocolate bar to look forward to in a few hours.

Because I have worked the process — counted my points, held myself accountable, written out my feelings — the process has worked. That muffin can go hoarse calling me. I’m not gonna answer it.