50 shades of pasta

Pasta. Especially zucchini and ham (and, it goes without saying, cream). It’s like my demon.
Some sort of sensual and translucent creature, sneakily peering at you from under a canopy of apparent healthiness. She hides below the word zucchini, hinting at some measure of vegetable lightness. And she gets you.

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I imagine that every person has their own tempting demon, and for those who often use the word diet along with sighs and sobs, demons are beings of many colours but, even more, many flavours. Fluffy skirted meringue woman, flirty Americans with the scent of bacon, delicious chocolate-ladies from the tropics. I talk about female figures because, let’s be honest, male personifications of food wouldn’t be this alluring.
Healthy bespectacled radishes and beefy steaks, tops.

White 74

I like the idea of starting from white.

New page, new chance. No room for preconceptions, ideas hammered into too-young skulls or biblical apples. No original sin to drag along.

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The word Diet accompanied me for a long part of my life: from about 10 minutes after the word Fat was connected to my person [A/N: by my mother]. Shorter or longer , cleansing and flagellating diets: the mere sound of diet had, more often than not, the power to cause me so much anxiety that I would eat more as a reflex.

And that’s when… enough. White. No more fear. Diet doesn’t mean anything any more.
I started to look around, articulate my thoughts and look into my head for an answer. And after 2 weeks of zero diet the scale mark's negative, mood mark's positive. This way seems the right one, and a couple of challenges have already been overcome with success and great satisfaction.

Down the road, I see her. The me of a few months ahead, and I already feel her reflection upon me. Thin, yes, but above all, smiling…

Moon [-1.6]