This was the original intro to today’s blog:

The closing scene of the movie “A Million Little Pieces” (embedded below for your viewing pleasure) shows addict James and his brother Bob entering a bar. James is fresh out of rehab, so Bob is trying to talk him out of going in. But James insists.

They walk in and James tells his brother to rack the balls for a game of pool. He walks towards the bar as Bob stares dumbstruck in the background. If you’ve ever seen the movie or read *the book A Million Little Pieces, you know what James went through to get clean. It’s indescribable, and the thought that he would want to ruin all of his hard work by going right back to drinking is even more so.

James orders a whiskey. But not a shot of whiskey. He wants a tall Pilsner glass filled to the brim. The bartender says no. It’s his bar, and he can say no to people who want to commit alcoholic suicide.

“Nothing good ever came out of a fifth of whiskey,” says the bartender. But James insists, and throws a pile of money on the bar. The bartender looks at him sadly, and pours.

“It’s your funeral.”

James watches that hard pour, rapt. Then gets his face right down into that glass of whiskey. Takes a big whiff. Stares it down. Sees the pain and the blood and the sadness that the whiskey has dealt him his whole life. He grips the glass, and a lone piano note sounds. He raises his head and stares at himself with hatred in the mirror behind the bar.

Motherfucker, he says. Fuck you, he says. He begins to cry, his face contorting in the mirror, almost as if he is possessed. You can see Bob in the background, incredulous but not interfering. They’re his brother’s demons. They’ve always been his brother’s demons.

And suddenly, the demons let go of their hold on him. James lets go of the glass and plays pool with his brother.

I originally wanted to begin today’s blog with that story because I did the same thing with a donut recently. But I didn’t want people to think I was comparing alcoholism to pastry. I would never joke about addiction. Never. I’ve seen my share of it.

It was just funny. Because I’m on this diet, and it’s going great, but I miss the occasional trip to the bakery. So the other day I popped in for old times’ sake, and purchased one donut. A donut I knew I wouldn’t eat, because I promised myself strict adherence to my food plan; besides, donuts are something I just don’t eat anymore.

I just wanted to buy it. Hang out with it. You know, for ol’ times’ sake.

I brought it home, put it on a pretty plate, and placed it on my counter. As I went about my day, I considered it. Just looked at it. Smelled it. Sugar. Butter. Flour. Eggs. Yeast. How easy it would be to just eat it in three bites, gone. But knowing that I wouldn’t.

(Scoff if you will, but it is a good exercise for me. I’ve got that green bikini lying in wait, remember)

Later that day I placed a newly purchased butternut squash right next to the donut. A butternut squash that has been squatting on my counter for a week, just waiting for attention.

I’ve examined the squash from all angles. It’s an odd creature, this butternut squash. Bell-shaped, thick-skinned. I’m trying to experiment with new vegetables, and I considered the donut and the squash sitting side-by-side on my counter. How strange, I thought, that I could eat the donut in less time than it would take to peel and slice the butternut squash.

But would it be as satisfying?

Perhaps briefly. But would it be as satisfying as peeling the squash, cutting it into little cubes with my big knife while listening to classical music and then tossing the cubes with garlic and olive oil and baking them at 400°? Then enjoying the smell of the roasting squash permeate the house as I anticipate eating a direct food source, something completely unprocessed?

Probably not.

Did you know butternut squash is technically a fruit? It has 13 carbs in a cup (but it’s still keto friendly, depending who you talk to), and has a nutty, earthy flavor. The skin on butternut squash is notoriously tough and difficult to peel, so if you would like to soften the skin a bit before peeling your butternut squash, just use a fork or paring knife to poke holes all over the skin of the squash.  Then pop it in the microwave for 2 minutes, remove, and proceed onward with peeling the squash.

Or buy the pre-cut cubes in the supermarket, my personal choice. And while admittedly butternut squash is labor and time-intensive I say once again that the best things in life often are. My point with all this?

Sometimes the easy way isn’t always the best way.

(*The book A Million Little Pieces by James Frey was phenomenal, but if you’re not aware, he promoted it on Oprah as a memoir when it was actually semi-fictional. I remember that Oprah episode well- I wanted to hear firsthand how he lived through getting root canal without anesthesia, a chapter so difficult to read I had to put it down and walk away and return to it later. To this day, the description of his pain haunts me. Anyway, when Oprah found out Frey lied to her, she demanded he come back on her show and apologize to her and her viewers, for “duping” them. He did. Awkward to watch. Frey died at the age of 61).