There is a god-awful song on my IPod called “death of my Desire” by White Town. For those of you who haven’t had the great pleasure of ever hearing or hearing about White Town, don’t worry. It has no effect on your experience in reading this post what-so-ever.
But if you are one of those weird auditory learners or just very interested in my weird techno-hip taste in music or whatever; here’s the YouTube link.
Want a better song to read to? This one is better. I promise.
Out of New Years inspiration and a constant growing impatience of my bodily self-consciousness, my mom has put us both on the notorious South Beach Diet. The first two weeks have a harsh guideline of what can and cannot be eaten. NO breads, rice, cereal, fruit, candy, Nutella, pasta, potatoes, or pudding; which changed my “buddy the elf” diet to a more refined “starved rabbit” diet. The South Beach Diet book talks about how cutting these foods strictly for two weeks will turn off your internal switch that craves these foods.
Classic example of a death of my desire. I see it as kind of a bitter sweet thing, really. Visually you could possibly compare it to blowing out one of those cheap wax birthday candles. After it is blown out, it is still relight-able but with its wax melted away the overall attraction to the candle isn’t the way you saw it before.
de·sire
–verb (used with object)
1. To wish or long for; crave; want.
–noun
3. A longing or craving, as for something that brings satisfaction or enjoyment: a desire for
Fame.
Death
–noun
4. Extinction; destruction: It will mean the death of our hopes.
Dwell on it, my intelligent fellows.
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