David Friedli

By the Dashboard Lights

01/10/08

Jonesin’

“Put down the bottle for one more day
Backing off of my tobacco Jones
Still I'm feelin' like a hopeless junkie
Like a man who can't say no.” James Taylor, Little More Time With You

It’s the seventh of January and my body is feeling the effects of withdrawal.

The twelve days of vacation surrounding the Christmas and New Year’s holidays wreaked havoc on the small amount of self-control I have.

The temptations of the various treats, sweets and rich food completely overwhelmed me.

Overwhelmed my waistline too, I am finding as I have traded jeans and sweatshirts for dress pants and button-down shirts.

But even though I want to get back into a healthier eating habit, I find myself looking wistfully for something…anything.

Something caloric, something tasty. Anything, really. Just…something.

That’s the rub of the holiday season. There is an overabundance of food. And most of it is very good.

At the beginning of the vacation our kitchen table was covered with plates of cookies, boxes of chocolate and tins of candy, all from good friends and co-workers.

Those first day choices are blessings of a holiday buffet. A person can be picky on those days, grabbing the best bites from each gift.

High quality chocolate ranks high on my list. So are homemade cookies, especially any with chocolate.

Gifts of fruit weren’t ignored. The cleansing properties of citrus between sugary snacks are appreciated, not to mention the psychological rationalization that even within this high-calorie, high sugar diet, I got three servings of fresh fruit today.

As vacation wore on and the plates and tins and baskets emptied out, those items initially passed over in the interest of a better choice now become like left over players in a sandlot baseball game: you may not want them, but they serve the purpose, so you take them.

By Day Twelve of Vacation That Was Christmas-New Years 2007-2008, everything is gone. The kitchen table is bare and there isn’t a treat to be found in the house. I know, because I have looked. Searched. Scrounged. Hunted.

Nothing. And my body is wondering where the days of goody glory went.

I am in withdrawal, and I don’t know what to do about it. I crave a crinkle cookie, pray for a peizzle and am famished for a piece of fudge.

Instead, the refrigerator, once stocked with meal leftovers offers only a carrot stick.

Pretending it is a candy cane, I eat. My body knows the difference.