The more that I try to think about what to write about other than keto, everything circles back to keto. Is this some kind of mental trick? Like “don’t think about X” means that “X” filters all other thoughts and as such, just forces you to think about X more? I can’t be bothered filtering and there’s very little else going on in my life at the moment, so you’re getting more keto content. I guess you could say we’ve reached a ketogeneric state?
Dumb puns aside (there goes my entire arsenal -Ed), I’m finding this whole process interesting (even if none of you are). It’s causing me to look at everything I ingest under a magnifying glass, which is another way of saying I’m obsessing. I pissed onto a small stick today, like some faux pregnancy. They’re called Keto Sticks and they’re used for measuring the ketones in your urine. Unlike the pregnancy test, there’s a colour scale. It’s not like you can be kind of pregnant, but you can be in varying degrees of ketosis. My reading (which was hilarious to do. As I peed on the little stick it boinged back and forth like one of those door stopper springs) said I have trace amounts of ketones in my body. Trace amounts? I figured my past week’s fanaticism deserved more than trace amounts. I wanna be pissing ketones out the wazoo (otherwise known as my urethra). On the other hand, according to a bunch of threads I read, the sticks aren’t super accurate and being overly hydrated (or dehydrated) could affect the reading. They universally said to check first thing in the morning. So first thing in the AM I’m gonna check my pee-M.
Secondly, broth. I’ve got chicken broth bubbling away in the slow cooker. It smelled amazing when I left this morning and it’s only gonna get better. I’m no stranger to chicken soup and it’s wondrous panacea qualities. It’s one of my favourite foods, no joke (also that’d be a pretty tepid joke at best, even if I was leaning against an exposed brick wall for authenticity’s sake). Bone broth is a whole different endeavour. It’s quite possibly one of those hipster health movements, but maybe it’ll help encourage some healthy movements in my bowels. I don’t think that’s one of its benefits, but I’ll try most anything at this point. N. E. Way. I threw in the corpses of two whole chickens, plus some apple cider vinegar yesterday evening. They cooked all night and this morning I added chopped carrots, onion, garlic and celery. By the time I get home tonight, I should have a savoury gelatinous mass that I can melt down into a rich broth. I can wait (and I’ll have to) but I don’t want to.
Moving back to the movements, I got myself some psyllium husk powder in the hopes that it’d ease my struggles. Holy coprophilia, Batman, does that ever taste foul? Nobody told me it doesn’t easily dissolve in cold water, so the first few times I tried it there were little orbs of repugnant gel in a viscous liquid. Even after figuring that out, the stuff is nigh inedible without gagging. Like some form of rotting mushrooms, it’s fucking hard to get down your gullet. Then again, I figure that’s the point of this biological equivalent of drain cleaner. It terrifies everything clogging up your pipes, which rushes to the exit. So far I’ve had middling results, but here’s looking up. I’m increasing my dosage day by day as it suggests, which seems to merely be upping my revulsion. Positive signs?
Worth mentioning is that last night featured exceedingly the best meal I’ve had since I started this bloody diet. Emphasis on bloody, because I had roasted strip loin done pretty rare. It was divine and so goddamn simple. Down to $3/lb from $12/lb, I felt pretty chuffed to have a high quality meat cut for once. I cranked the oven to 450°F and put on a dry rub. I tossed it in for 15 minutes, turned it to 350° for 35 minutes, then took the slab out and rested it for 20 minutes. That was it. I flanked my steak with a heaping of silverbeet (known as Swiss Chard over this side of the pond. Silverbeet’s a better name) and cabbage. While luxurious, it was also the most normal meal of my past week. Nothing in it felt like I was pandering to the diet. No extra fats added in order to hit macros, just a glorious and delectable dish.
Have I bored you enough with the comings and goings of my intestinal tract? Like I give a shit.