Franziaaa . . . the wine in the box

For what seemed like every single day in Physics class senior year of high school, David Rowe sat behind me and sang this jingle. I remembered it the other day when I was thinking about how I needed to start drinking red wine on a regular basis, but how it probably defeated the health purposes to drink a whole bottle in one sitting because I don't want it to go bad. So really the perfect item for me would boxed wine that wouldn't turn to vinegar if I only had one glass a night.

Oh, if only it was good wine!

I thought about the red wine because I need to start eating heart-healthy. Because I just found out my cholesterol level is currently on red alert, danger zone.

Though it could primarily be from genetics, I do eat what could technically be defined as an ass-ton of cheese. It is, after all, my number one favorite food. And as much as it kills me to cut down on the cheese, and despite the genetic predisposition, I just can't wrap my head around going on medication when I'm only 30.

Like I blogged about earlier, my resolution is to maintain calm in the face of stress, so my first thought was, "(damn it) I'm going to have to start an exercise program (damn it)." And so I did.

And then I decided to get rid of all the unhealthy food in the apartment--by eating it. (Don't want to be wasteful--and Tim sure isn't going to polish off that half-pound of sandwich ham!)

And I announced to my classmates my newly discovered condition, and that I was starting an exercise program, and several of them said they'd join me, so now I have to stick with it.

But the thing about remaining calm is that it doesn't always work inside. My head knows all the logical things, but I guess I didn't give myelf time to acknowledge what a potentially huge thing it is to have proof that there is something terribly unhealthy and dangerous in my life. Dad says, "well, it's not like you're going to drop dead from a heart attack tomorrow . . ." but doesn't that happen to 30-year-olds sometimes? I mean, it's not outside of the realm of possibility or anything.

And I do eat a lot of cheese!

So I'm upset and depressed, and scared, and I'm worried I'm going to develop an eating disorder. I came home with low blood sugar tonight and needed to stuff some food in my face just so I wouldn't pass out. Normally, that would be cheese and crackers. But instead I looked for something healthier. I found a Trader Joe's frozen bag of chicken fried rice (and all the ingredients were good) and made that. And then ate it worrying that I used too much of the spray olive oil in the pan to fry it, and what about the fatty bits on the chicken, and is white rice merely not the greatest thing to eat or is it in fact raising my cholesterol by fractions of a point as it heads down my gullet?

It's pretty ridiculous, I know. I know what's healthy, and that we do eat very healthily. (I guess I did marry someone who is beyond anal when it comes to the food he puts in his body.) But I suddenly feel paralyzed and in the dark, like I forgot all of that, and as though I was just deluding myself into thinking we were healthy when actually we subsist on McDonald's supervalue meals.

I guess that year of mozarella sticks and hot wings, aka 2002, is catching up with me.