Since getting sick a couple weeks ago, I’ve dropped about 15 pounds. This is definitely a mixed blessing. On one hand, I feel lousy whenever I think about food, can’t eat much of anything, and have to be careful in order to keep it down. On the other hand, I’ve now dropped below a fitness plateau (or really, out-of-fitness plateau) that I haven’t been able to break in three years. It’s disconcerting to be unable to eat, but I’m tempted to let it go a couple more months before consulting a doctor. It’s working better than any other diet I’ve been on.
It reminds me of the end of Annie Hall, where Woody Allen tells the joke about the man who goes to see his psychiatrist. “Doctor,” he says, “my brother thinks he’s a chicken.”
“Bring your brother in,” the doctor says.
“I’d like to,” the man says, “but we really need the eggs.”