Why is dinner so difficult?

October 25, 2013

I know the title of this sounds whiny, but I don’t care. I feel whiny.

I was just talking on the phone to someone who worked a full day at a job, then worked out at the gym, then finally got home to rest for just a bit before having to suddenly go out and take care of a sick family member. I spoke to her just after she had gotten home and she was completely exhausted. She was having trouble just getting up and moving around. She was completely worn out.

So was I. That’s why I feel whiny. What did I do today? I had a quiet morning. I met a friend for lunch. We walked over to an eyeglass store and I tried on glasses while she gave her opinion on each. I came home. I read, checked Facebook, answered emails. I was doing pretty well until dinner. Some days cooking isn’t too bad, but this wasn’t one of those days. The oven was on and it was too hot, even though the windows were open. In a tank top, I was sweating. I made something new, and it took too much mental energy. I had to leave the kitchen to sit and rest twice. And that was just preparing the meal. Never mind the effort to eat it or, even worse, wash the dishes.

I’m lucky that I can prepare meals most days. I know that. But still, sometimes I just get so frustrated that cooking one dinner can exhaust me as much as a healthy person on their most hectic, stressful day.

What daily (or near-daily) activity wears you out? What do you feel is so much more exhausting than you ever thought it would be?


The one thing I really miss about gluten

October 22, 2013

People ask me all the time if it’s been hard to give up gluten, or what I miss, or how I do it. Even though I used to wonder the same thing about others back before I’d done it, now I find these questions so strange. It’s not hard, because I feel so much better. There’s no question of how I do it, because I feel so much better; willpower isn’t 20131022_204902necessary because there’s no temptation. There’s one thing I really miss, but it’s not what most people think.

I don’t miss the gluten-filled pastas or breads at all. I don’t miss the cookies or cakes, either. Don’t get me wrong, I love all of these things. It’s just that the gluten-free versions are just as good, and I’ve realized that having them less often is fine. In fact, I now only have sweet desserts about once a month, and that’s plenty for me. I stopped eating pizza many years ago because it made me sick, so I don’t miss that. Gluten-free soy sauce is just as good for cooking as the gluten kind. Gluten-free chicken broth tastes as good to me as the gluten type. I know it’s not easy for everyone to find substitutes, and I’m glad that I have these options. I can’t substitute everything easily, of course, but for the most part I don’t care. Some things I have just stopped eating altogether, and I don’t mind. I don’t miss them. And there are plenty of foods that are naturally gluten-free, too. The truth is, my diet is better now, and I’m happy about that.

There’s one thing I miss a lot, though: convenience. I miss being able to leave my house without thinking about what I’ll be able to eat while I’m out and if I need to bring food. I miss being able to go to a friend’s house for dinner without having to bring my own meal. I miss running errands without packing snacks. I miss being out longer than I expected without worrying about what I’ll eat. I miss grabbing a cider donut with my friends while we’re apple picking. I hear that the gluten-free bakery has them but now, weeks later, it’s just not the same. I miss eating Chinese food in Chinatown; now I can only go to certain restaurants that have gluten-free items. Mostly, I miss not having to worry about it what, when, or where I’ll eat.

But I don’t miss feeling sick every single day and that makes the inconvenience completely worthwhile. I do not have any desire to “cheat” on my gluten-free diet and I doubt I ever will. The benefits are just too great to give it up for a bit of cookie.


Please don’t suggest shortcuts unless you’re going to help pay for them

October 16, 2013

People like to offer advice. They want to help. I get that. I want to help others, too. But when the advice involves money I don’t have, and I point that out, arguing the point really doesn’t help.

Example 1: “Why don’t you order groceries to be delivered?”

This is suggested to me a lot. Yes, that would be great. It would save me time and energy and effort and the pain of walking and driving and reaching and carrying. Perfect solution. But it’s expensive. Only the more expensive grocery stores offer this service, and then they charge extra for this service. I just can’t afford it. I point this out to people and too often they try to argue that it would be worth it anyway. They don’t seem to understand that I am living off of disability payments that don’t cover all of my expenses as it is, and that might be cut off any time the insurer feels like it (well, that’s essentially the case.) So yes, grocery delivery would be incredibly helpful, but that doesn’t mean that it’s an option for me. I wish I was. I really do. But it’s just not.

Example 2: “Why don’t you use a laundry service?”

Wow, that sounds nice. Someone else would wash all my clothes and linens. I’d just have to prepare them and put them away. I’d love that! No more lugging everything down the hall, into the elevator, to the basement, and into the machines, then returning later to put everything in the dryer, then returning again even later to lug it all back up to my apartment. I would even have to fold clothes. It sounds heavenly! But I balk at the laundry prices I’m already paying: $2.50 to wash each load and $2.50 to dry each load, which is why I let some clothes dry on racks in my living room now instead of paying for the dryer. If I have trouble paying those prices, how am I supposed to pay even more to have someone else do my laundry? People try to argue that it’s not that much more to pay someone else, and it will save me money on detergent, etc. Um, I don’t pay that much for detergent (just how much do you use?) Besides, if the current cost is too much, a higher amount isn’t magically ok. It just doesn’t work like that.

Example 3: “Why don’t you order in for dinner?”

Oh, don’t get me started. It is so much more expensive to buy a restaurant meal than to cook at home. Yes, it would do wonders for saving energy and reducing pain on the days I need it most, but that doesn’t mean I can afford it! Plus, it’s just not healthy – I can’t be sure what’s in those foods, and my health is the most important thing. I have a list of easy meals to make from ingredients I always have on hand and I grow the list whenever I can. Failing that, when I feel well enough I often cook in large quantities and freeze the extras, so I can always pull something out of the freezer. People try to argue that it’s worth it to order in. Maybe it is to them. Sure, you with a job and a steady income might eat out sometimes. Good for you. But you can’t assume we can all do it. There are financial limitations, and this is one of mine.

There are so many more examples like this. I know people mean well. They really do. And I don’t mind the suggestions. But when I say I can’t afford it, that means I can’t afford it. Trying to suggest it’s “worth it” just doesn’t work. So my new response will be that if they think it’s that important, they should be offering to cover the cost for me. If they won’t do that, then the conversation is over. Kaput. Finished. I live in the real world, and in the real world I’d rather pay for medical care than for grocery delivery. Yes, that is a choice I must make. It’s a personal choice. And I’m certain I’m making the right one for me.


My pajama radius

October 8, 2013

I was watching How I Met Your Mother the other day and they did a joke about Marshall’s “underpants radius.” Ted explained that, “Everyone’s got an underpants radius. For most of us, it’s the distance from the bedroom to the bathroom, but as your self-esteem gets smaller, your underpants radius gets bigger.” Apparently, as Marshall’s unemployment dragged out, his underpants radius increased to laying on the couch, to getting the newspaper, and eventually to going to a restaurant in his underpants.

That got me thinking about my pajama radius.

I live in an apartment building. I also live alone. It used to be that I wore nothing more than underpants between my bedroom and my bathroom, but I covered up to walk to another part of the apartment. Occasionally, as I was getting ready for bed I’d realize I’d forgotten my book or something in the living room. I sleep naked. I used to cover up to get the book, but after a while I just covered my breasts with my arms and ran in, keeping the lights off. Eventually I didn’t bother to cover up or run, but I kept the lights off. Then I’d need to get something in the kitchen after my morning shower but before I’d gotten dressed, and I’d just walk in naked, even during the day. Even with the shades up. But hey, this was all in my apartment and it was my body so it was ok, right? It was also when I was feeling fairly healthy.

A funny thing happened when I got sicker, though. I began to spend a lot of time in my pajamas. They started to feel like “real” clothes. It used to be that when someone came to my door and I was in pjs, I’d throw on a bathrobe or a sweatshirt before I’d answer their knock. Now I don’t bother. Then I started wearing pajama bottoms to take out the trash in the evening. As I felt even worse, I’d just wear full pajamas to take out the trash. At some point, wearing pajamas to check the mail in the lobby seemed ok. I began to have visitors while I was in my pjs. And then last week, I found myself wearing my pajamas as I walked my friend to her car across the street so that I could get back my parking pass.

When did this happen? I know it’s been in the last few years that my pajama radius has spread. It seems to come from two health-related things: quality and quantity. Sure, as my health gets worse I wear my pjs more. But also, the longer this goes on, the less I care. There are more important things in life to worry about than whether a neighbor sees me in my pjs. I don’t care if a neighbor sees my hair messed up or my boobs swinging freely under a pajama top. If I let them see me when my insides feel like crap, why should I care if my outsides look like crap, too? Society says I should care, but society averages towards feeling healthy. I do not.

I suppose the only question is, does this matter? I’m guessing it does. But I just don’t care.