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Friday, December 1, 2017

Dietitians and Orthorexia Nervosa

It was a pleasure to get to bed last evening around 10:55 p.m. at very latest, but I did not bide in slumber for too very long.

My first break in sleep found me awake enough to rise and use the bathroom at something like 2:30 a.m., and the broken stretches of sleep were hard won thereafter.

At least I never suffered a total nasal passageway blockage ─ the bane of many a night's sleep for me!

I recollect also finding myself unusually warm ─ sweating, in fact.

When I checked the time this morning and saw it to be 6:28 a.m., I was eager enough to get up and to work at the post I am constructing at one of my six hosted websites.

I also wanted to do my best to get out this morning and do some grocery shopping.

I was early to find that my eldest stepson Tho had not yet gone to work. However, he soon enough made haste, and at 7:01 a.m. was out the front door and on his way.

His younger brother Poté was still abed, but eventually he too had to rise for work; and I think that it may have been 8:44 a.m. when he was out the front door.

And I was alone. My younger brother Mark had gone to work long before Tho.  

A couple of mornings ago I noticed what I diagnosed as a sensitive throat due to swallowing unsuitably hot liquid, so I have been trying to avoid gulping my hot beverages, and savour them somewhat first so as to afford some cooling.

Well, this morning the sensitivity seemed to be back.

I laboured at the website post until I had completed the morning's assigned content quota, but by then I was feeling poorly. But it felt to be more than just being weary.

I sought my bed and lay therein, trying to nap without benefit of earplugs. There was not too much noise outside in the cul-de-sac, for this has been a rather rainy day.

It became clear that something more was amiss with me than mere weariness.

When finally I pulled myself from bed, I was in many respects even worse off, and my bad eyes seemed to be especially impaired.

I felt too listless to be able to confront going anywhere, so I decided to try and have a wee bit to eat, and a hot instant coffee.

I also tuned in a comedy on the Android TV Box ─ I settled on the Thanksgiving episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

To my considerable delight, I found the episode especially enjoyable and spirit-boosting. It was also nice seeing Jimmy Smits and Katey Sagal portraying parents to two of the main characters ─ these two guest stars did not act as a couple, but instead each had a different spouse.   

Once the show was done, I felt better, and was able to ready myself and finally get out of here ─ it was 11:38 a.m. when I left.

My destination was Save-On-Foods at least 1¼ miles distant in Whalley. I was spared any serious rain throughout my round-trip jaunt.

Had I been feeling haler, I would have bought some lottery scratch ticket packs as Christmas gifts while I was cutting through Surrey Place (Central City), but I didn't have it in me to add that extra social burden to my agenda today.

My focus was not up to par, either ─ fuzzy thinking, and all.

I expect that it was around 12:53 p.m. by the time I was back home.

I didn't let that outing become my sole physical activity today ─ I was to eventually get out to the backyard tool shed and perform some pull-ups.

I do what little I am able both to eat reasonably well, and get a modicum of exercise. A limited pension dictates where I am going to be falling short in either context.

Have you ever heard of the term orthorexia? I can only recall coming across it two to four weeks ago.

I read an article reporting on a study whose results deemed that ─ according to the evaluation performed upon 636 U.S. registered dietitian nutritionists (RDNs) ─ 49.5% of them were at risk of being orthorexic; 12.9% were at risk for an eating disorder; and 8.2% of them admitted to being treated for an eating disorder. 

These are supposed to be experts in nutrition who should surely understand what constitutes a sound diet, yet essentially half of them were potentially orthorexic over their own diets.

Read about the study in this article ─ it is quite interesting:


The chap (Steven Bratman) who coined the term orthorexia has a website using that name ─ i.e, Orthorexia.com ─ and he presents a half-dozen questions so that people can try to understand if they might be candidates for being deemed orthorexic: The Authorized Bratman Orthorexia Self-Test

Once again, my limited pension does not allow me to be anything like an orthorexic ─ I know that I am fortunate to be able to eat as well as I can afford to do, and I also definitely can appreciate the occasional naughty dietary treat.

Nevertheless, it is interesting to think about oneself in the light of what it means to be orthorexic.

And as Dr. Marc S. Micozzi suggested in his article on dieticians, perhaps we oughtn't to be too impressed whenever one is trotted out on some news or public service programme to laud what he or she proclaims must be embodied by the phrase 'healthy eating.'

Ever since it got dark this latter afternoon, it has been raining quite hard ─ not walking weather at all.

I wanted to get some Christmas lights set up in the living room to show through the picture window, but I can only find one relatively short indoor string that works.

I at least attached a pair of good-sized lighted frames in the window representing Santa and also Rudolph ─ the lights are of various colours, and do display very well.

But I am unsure what to do about the Christmas lights. I have already received my monthly pension, and everything I want to do before Christmas has to come from it ─ I honestly don't see how I can squeeze in the cost of some additional strings of Christmas lights.

It is already into the evening, so I must hasten to bring this post to a close.

But first, I want to post this old photo:

A photo taken on one of the many trips that my mother Irene Dorosh and her husband Alex made together over the years

I don't know for certain when the photo was taken, but the location is apparently Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah.

I have no idea who the woman is.
That is the description I gave the scan where I have it filed in a Google Plus album.

And that paves the way for this old journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 27 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

I was renting in a private home located on Ninth Street, and not more than two houses up from Third Avenue.

My mother and Alex were away on one of their holidays, and I was taking advantage of their absence to try and pay a daily visit to their home off in the Kennedy Heights area of Surrey.

Their home was my main mailing address, yet it was a walk of 1½ hours at a goodly pace to get there.

That little house no longer exists, but its address was 12106 - 90th Avenue.

I believe that I was into at least my second week following breaking up with my 20-year-old girlfriend Melody St. Jean, and I could not seem to allow myself to get over her. 

She had jilted me for Chris, a young co-worker of my brother Mark.

Before that had happened, however, she had quit her job and moved her furniture into the bachelor suite of my old friend William Alan Gill, who was renting an apartment about four or so blocks from my room.

The pair had planned to find accommodation where the three of us could live, but that just did not happen ─ she met Chris first.

I was unemployed, and didn't even drive. Chris had a well-paying job, and sported a very fancy pickup.

At least I was collecting Unemployment Insurance (U.I.) from the federal department of Manpower and Immigration; and trying to visit their local offices quite regularly to check the latest job postings.

I had also been spurred to enroll at John's Driving School ─ I had thus far taken all of the classes, and had one of the two practice road drives.

It was now a Wednesday. The evening prior to this day's journal entry, I had written that I was about to embark on the hike out to my mother's home around 9:30 p.m. ─ it would have been a dark, long walk.

And since I wrote nothing more in the previous day's journal entry, it was clear that I was not to return to my room.

Noe that my younger brother Mark was renting a duplex unit less than three miles from our mother's home ─ if memory correctly serves me, he was ensconced in a building located just a short distance down Semiahmoo Road from Old Yale Road in Surrey.

The previous week while my mother and Alex were away, I would leave their home and go to Mark's duplex unit to spend the night, and then ride in to New Westminster in the early morning when he drove through it on his way to work.

This week, however, he was on an afternoon / evening shift. If I wanted the ride, I needed to visit him before he left for work in the afternoon.
WEDNESDAY, December 1, 1976

I did stop at Bill's last night, but only a couple of minutes; Melody was at her parents. 

My walk to mom's was not entirely unpleasant; fog was amassing.

I ate and retired.


Around 3:00 a.m. Bill awoke me knocking; he'd come to spend the night, and borrow $2.

I had to give him $20.

He said Chris after work took Melody to see Gary, who wanted to see her before he left town. Apparently Gary got violent with her, and Chris summoned the police on his CB.

Gary was not taken into custody, however.

Thanks to Bill, I arose earlier than I cared to (he had to be at work by 8:00 a.m.).

The fog never lifted all day.

Incidentally, I had a letter from Scott Paper saying they would not be considering my application.

I ate an enormous pancake breakfast which filled me all day.

On my way to Mark's, at Safeway I bought a box each of Special K, Harvest Crunch, Red River Cereal, and Sunny Boy cereal.

Mark was home when I arrived around noon.

I accompanied him on some Surrey Place browsing.

Back at his place Bill phoned; he definitely wants Chris to stay away nights. But he may show up at mom's again tonight.

He has to come up with the rent by tomorrow, or get out on the week-end; and Melody is his only hope (she was at Judy's place).

Wendy also phoned to say Bruce's wedding has been pushed ahead to the 18th!

Anyway, I came into town with Mark on his way to work (I lent him $5 today for fuel).

I laundered, then went and paid my $85 rent.

On Saturday night Mark will be going to the free booze party with the girl we met 2 weeks ago; and since Chris also belongs to the mill social club, he'll be going with Melody. 

Thus, Friday is my sole hope of getting drunk and seeing her, providing Bill & she go to the Vargas as I plan to (Mark and Chris have to work that night).


Well, I have had some exercise now, and showered. It but remains to set off into the fog for mom's (and this before 7:25 p.m.).

However, I shall stop at Bill's to collect the $18 change from the twenty I loaned him last night; I'm uncertain if I want Melody to be there or not, questioning whether I'm up to seeing her.
Bill had gone broke by blowing through his money while squiring Melody around. He had even been suspended from work for a week or two because he made too many excuses about why he was not coming in to work.

He had fallen in love with Melody during the first week she had moved in, and then played the Big Shot.

And now he was in direst straits.

Gary was a former boyfriend of Melody's. He had actually broken into Bill's apartment a week or so before, and punched Bill in the face, just missing his nose.

Chris happened to be there, but Gary didn't realize that Chris and not Bill was Melody's new boyfriend. Apparently Bill, Chris, and some neighbours had to subdue Gary until the police came and took Gary away.    

Yet he never got charged then, either. And Bill had to pay for the damages to his apartment door. 

Scott Paper would have been a handy enough location in New Westminster for me to work at ─ I could easily have walked. 

It eventually sold out and is today called Kruger Inc.

When I was visiting at Mark's suite and Bill phoned, he had said that Melody was presently at Judy's ─ that was her married sister. 

The next caller on Mark's phone was our maternal cousin Wendy Halverson, who was in her mid-teens at most. She was reporting that her brother Bruce was getting married December 18 instead of Christmas Eve.

That was a big deal of a change for me because I had been nominated as Bruce's best man. I was rather terrified at the whole prospect.

After Mark got me back to my room, I hiked on up to Sixth Avenue to a laundromat that I believe was very near to the public library.

My rent was $85. My U.I. was $144 ─ but maybe that was every two weeks?

The mill Mark worked at must have thrown pretty good Christmas parties ─ free booze!

In the meantime, though, I was planning on going to a party in just two days at the New Westminster apartment of Al and Marie Varga. Since both Mark and Chris had to work that later shift, they would be unable to attend ─ but maybe Bill would, along with Melody.

I just couldn't let go of her.

So was she back at Bill's apartment when I left that Wednesday evening on the long walk to my mother's home?

Tomorrow's journal entry will tell ─ I do not read ahead, so I have no idea.

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