On Eating Raw
I have become extremely disinterested in talking to people about how my wife and I have been eating as of late. It is not so much saying, “We only eat raw fruits and vegetables…” as it is the part that comes immediately afterward. I say that and then I am immediately put on notice by a barrage of questions that makes me have to justify the way that I am eating to whoever it is that is inquiring.
You know what?
Fuck you.
I don’t ask you why you eat bread and then ask you to explain to me why that bread is good for you and how you insure that you are getting the proper nutrients from that bread.
At first this only came up when people saw me eating but now I am getting asked why I look so different or what fad diet I am on. “Atkins?” they ask, “South Beach?”
Here is the deal: My wife felt that this was a good way to address the problems she was having after the abdominal trauma of that fucking medical disaster that kept her hospitalized for months a while back. She asked if I would be willing to try it just to make it easier on her when buying the food we would be consuming. Of course I said yes.
The point of it all is that I never intended to lose weight and I do not consider myself to be on a diet.
So let’s just say that my mind doesn’t work the way yours does and leave it at that. If you want to know how to make something in particular, ask us. If you want to give me advice on how we are failing ourselves based on some antiquated food pyramid devised by the U.S. government, fuck off. You have no more right to tell me what to eat than I do to tell you what time you are allowed to masturbate.
Fuck yeah, it is extreme. Fuck yeah, it is hardcore. You have to be regimented and have resolve of steel not to cheat yourself but I am not asking you to do it, am I? To reverse some Paul Westerberg lyrics; you be you for a while and I’ll be me.
