Why I stopped eating Wendy's cheeseburgers

During and after my four year relationship I became historical. In my newfound misery (I've, unfortunately, known misery greater and worse since then), I could only dwell on the past or dream and project myself into the future. I was no longer "in the moment." I could only hope to live in the future. And to have a proper vehicle for my "future life" I would have to preserve both my health and my sexual potency (hence my avoidance of beef, cigarettes, and other deleterious substances and lifestyle practices.)

This was in addition to the present-timed (in the past, during those four years) self-denial I was already practicing. I became too good at patience, forbearance, and self-restraint. Then - when I was set free from my prison - my desire to "make up for lost time" became compulsion. Then, oftentimes, even when I succeeded the grayish black spiritual "gunk" kept me from fully enjoying the moment.

Walking past the gazebo on the Ocean Grove Boardwalk. Realizing that I'm growing up. Yes - me. Growing up spiritually. Big pieces of past conditioning falling off me like boulders. Seeing how conditioned I still am. Psychology is good for something.

Walking to the end of the Asbury Park Boardwalk. The beer garden. They put a bed in there in imitation of what they think is going on in New York City clubs. They're nowhere close to doing anything legitimately hip and they are not New York City. But they're trying. And I start to feel like I'm going to cry - like the time I jeered the Christmas lawn balloon as it sunk to the ground and then cheered as it was resurrected.

Erotic Irony.

Loneliness.

Erotic Irony, part 1 of 1 Trillion

When I was "normal" (around 1999/2000) I used to eat a Wendy's triple bacon cheeseburger every day of the week. Three beef patties, bacon and cheese on a bun (now I sound like the commercial.) Oh, it was so good. I used to eat Biggie fries, the triple cheeseburger, and then a chocolate frosty. Oh, it was so good. And I would eat this - or a variant of it - seven days a week. I was 19 years old and healthy as a horse. On top of this I smoked Marlboro Red 100s morning, noon, and night and I drank myself into a stupor every Friday night.

Seldom have I been happier or healthier. I had a macho, redneck, meat and potatoes attitude toward everything. I hated fags who used words like "kitschy" or "Kafkaesque".

Now look at me! I have to force myself to drink fruit smoothies and eat hummus with crackers just to avoid dying of self-starvation. Christ Almighty!

If I were to be honest with myself I would say that I do want to start eating burgers again - but the risk of Mad Cow disease is too great. I need a major success in my writing career before I can eat beef again - so I can die from Mad Cow disease as a success!

My Irrational OCDs

My OCDS are irrational. The other night I was walking to my kitchen when I heard a very loud gunshot. The shot was close - very close. So close that I ducked in my stairwell for a second.

But I was hungry. I had some good food to microwave and I was hungry.

But I'm afraid of microwave ovens. I can feel the waves in my body and I'm worried that microwaves will damage my mental, physical, and spiritual health.

So I put my food in the microwave, hit the start button, and sprinted outside into the gunfire.

I then realized that I was more concerned about microwave ovens than gunfire.

I then realized how irrational my OCDS are.