Eating Lava and Other Examples of my Lack of Won't Power

I have quite a bit of will power.

For reals.  One day, I said to myself, "I will be a non-smoker."  And I quit.  Three months ago.

I can decide something, and then DO it.  It's pretty easy, for me, actually.  I try to give myself really reasonable goals because  I want my will power to have confidence in itself, and then I can sneak some hard things in the middle.

I will drink a tall glass of chocolate milk when I wake up in the morning.

I will have two, maybe three beers in the evening before bed.

I will go for a run today, because I WILL be ready for the zombie apocalypse, and everyone knows you have to be pretty fit to survive that shit.

I will spend too much money when I run into Target for "one thing".

I will check facebook 900 times during the course of my workday, read a bunch of blogs, and stalk people on Google+, then at the end of the day, I will scramble to get things done and stress myself out.

See?  I have tons of "will" power.

What I lack is a bit of "won't" power.

Saying, "I won't go get a candy bar out of the vending machine this afternoon," is askling for trouble.  I absolutely CANNOT think this, or I will practically run to the break station with my quarter-hand outstretched and lunge to the coin insert.  If the word "candy bar" even crosses my consciousness, I have to internally change the subject as fast as possible, or within 15 minutes I will go into glycemic shock from all of the junk food I have crammed into my mouth.

I won't speed on the highway on the way home, and go 85 in a 65 zone because my car is SO FREAKING BADASS AND I LOVE WEAVING THROUGH TRAFFIC LIKE AN ASSHOLE. I won't, huh? Freaking TURBO, bitch.  You bet I will.

Saying "I won't" is pretty much the same thing as saying "I will," only with more guilt.

I have to trick myself.

At work, people leave boxes of donuts, bags of cookies, bowls of candy, half-finished cakes, and all manner of wonderful sitting on tables in the main halls.  They will have signs like, "Take one, free," or "Please finish, I need the pan back," or, "Please eat."  There are hundreds of people who work in my building.  Some of them can cook well.

I don't think, "I won't have one."  That would be stupid, and I would end up as big as a house.

I add the words, "They're not poisoned!" to the end of all the signs. 

"Please eat, they're not poisoned!"

"Take one, free!  They're not poisoned!"

See?  It totally works, and who cares if I am more suspicious of my coworkers than I should be.  Maybe I SHOULD be suspicious.  Better safe than sorry.

The other day, I was in the grocery store.  It was stupid.

I went right after work, and right after work, I am so hungry I want to gnaw on my arms.  I've tried snacking through the day, and eating fruit at the end of my shift, eating a later lunch, a bigger lunch, a smaller lunch... none of it matters.  5PM is when I need to eat.  If I don't, I become a psychotic ravening beast who may cut you off in traffic or say something rude about your hair.  It ain't pretty.

So instead of going home, eating something and then going out to the store, as any sane person would do, I went straight to the store on my way home.

I resisted the urge to cram all of the free samples into my face.

I resisted the urge to buy a german chocolate cake, or a fried chicken (which, by the way, was on sale, and smelled so good I think I may have actually drooled on myself).  I resisted the urge to add Twinkies and Ho-ho's and pink Snoballs and "raspberry" filled powdered donuts to my basket.  I resisted, I resisted, I resisted.

I resisted the urge to smash my cart into the back of the lady who wouldn't get the fuck out of my way, I needed pasta, damnit.  I resisted the urge to kick the kids out of the way who were running around and screaming like it was a waterpark which it kinda was after they opened up the jar of pickles and dumped it, and whose parents were completely ignoring them while arguing the merits of butter versus margerine.  I resisted the urge to body check the old man to get the last of the Horizon Organic Low-Fat Chocolate Milk.  I resisted. 

I didn't think "won't".  I didn't think, "I won't think 'won't'."  I didn't.

Instead, I thought, "I will find a treat to buy myself for being a good shopper.  Just one."

And when I spotted it, the one thing, it turned out to be five.  The refridgerated end-cap glowed like a becon, bathing my face in it's cold, fluorescent lighting. "Hot Pockets.  5 for $10."

I never get Hot Pockets.  I love Hot Pockets (I know, it's like a sickness).

I carefully chose the five flavors I would have.  I got two of my favorite, the "BBQ beef".  I don't know if it's real BBQ, or real beef, but I don't care.  It's awesome.

I got the "ham" and "cheese".

I got "chicken quesadilla", or some reasonable facsimile of the same.

"What the hell is a PRETZEL POCKET?" I exclaimed.  The teenage boy that was staring at the 3.2 beer  nearby glanced over at me and edged away. It was a new flavor, or at least, new to me.  It looked amazing.

I took one of those, too.

My angry shopping moment became bliss as I joyfully imagined how wonderful it would be to eat my Hot Pockets of Wonderment.

And I ate the  Hot Pockets.  It was everything I hoped for and more.  It was bliss.

I was doing a good job of cooking them, too, then waiting the allotted two minutes, then eating them.  I was also doing a good job of eating food other than Hot Pockets every once in a while.

And then I made the mistake.

Instead of saying, "I will wait for two minutes after the microwave beeps to eat this," I said, "I won't eat this early, I'll wait."

Oh woe.  Oh pain!  Why did I do this?  WHY?

The cheese-like substance inside a Hot Pocket is not cheese.

Cheese would vaporize at those temperatures.

My belief is that the "cheese" they use in Hot Pockets is some kind of hot magma held in stasis until the microwave "nukes" it and allows fusion and fission to commence.  It was like licking the damned sun.

I will remember this.

I will only use "will" power in the future, because apparently I have a congenital won't disorder. 

I also have a scarred tongue, and everything tastes like charcoal and pain.

Lesson learned.