Avoiding the smokes, eating the good grub

Why is it the better I feel the more I want to smoke?

I have been dying for a cigarette for days. It must just be the stress of dealing with this sarcoidosis diagnosis, plus other things I'll get into down the road.

Anyway, I have been dealing with the smoke craving through exercising and creative writing. Hard to smoke when you're power walking two miles a day. Not that goofy-stride walk one sees so many doing, but trudging through mud and sand and up hills to maximize the workout. Hell of a lung workout even for the healthy. And I am not 100 percent. I can feel that. But it feels good to breathe heavy and break a sweat.

I feel alive. And fortunate. Every time I go to get checked out at Northwestern Medical Center, I get low because of my condition and circumstances. But then I run into someone who is in a wheelchair and sucking on oxygen, or someone who weighs 100 pounds more than me and is, desperately trying to lose weight.

I thank God that my condition is what it is. I can bear it and get better. I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Besides smoking, the next hardest thing to do is control my desire for food. Prednisone has made me ravenous, 24-7. And I want the worst foods possibly: Salty, fatty and sugary foods. And I wanted them all the time, which is why I went from 290 to 321. But I am finally under control, I think and should be just under 300 on Friday! I will weigh myself and let you know.

Passed a major food test last night. My friends piled into a car and went to Popeye's Fried Chicken. Came back with boxes of fried chicken, fries, big-assed colas. I stayed home and made stir-fry chicken and broccoli, light on the oil. No salt. A dab of oil and pepper, garlic power and Mrs. Dash for flavor. The meal was delicious and satisfying. And will not add to the stomach, ass and thigh fat I am trying to lose.

I am good during the week now, diet-wise. I will reward myself with something fatty this weekend, but I'll be mindful of the calories. But I will be eating someone's fried chicken or a Chicago-style hot dog. Tasty and even decedent is part of living, too.