Blackberry Cobbler

Woke up this morning and before I was fully awake, I thought I was home.  Dh loves toast and eats it alll the time.  (Seriously, he is a toast addict!)  So, the woman I am living with was already up and I could smell toast, so I think smelling toast as I was waking up transported me back home to the many mornings I would wake up to the smell of dh’s toast. It made for a rough start of the day.  Funny how a simple smell can transport me the 1160 miles to home.  I want to say I hate being here…but I don’t.  I need to be here to get better.  I can’t hate being here because that won’t help me.  But I would be much, much happier to be home.

Monday, among other assignments, my dietitian wanted me to make a blackberry cobbler.  I have been eating a lot of blackberries and she was concerned that I was being repetitive with my food.  (Really, it was because blackberries have been $1 a package…and unheard of price back home and I love blackberries, so I have been eating as many of the as I can!!!!!) I took up her challenge, bought a cute little Pyrex container and baked my cobbler.

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And then? I panicked. Because step two of making the cobbler would be to eat the cobbler. And I panicked.  I am sooo mad at myself.  Like it’s just a stupid cobbler, why can’t I eat it? Why does my brain go right to the fact that it is calories and that I can’t have extra calories?

See why I can’t hate being here? I still need to be here. As frustrating as that is to admit, I am not quite done my work here yet.  And I won’t be done any of the work when I go home, I know that.  But I need to be more consistent with the food.  I need to be able to panic over food and still eat it. Oh…right…the cobbler.  So, I ate one spoonful of it last night, just so I could say I had some. I am going to challenge myself by having cobbler for breakfast.  Because it’s just cobbler, right?  It’s just a fucking cobbler.

 

 

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