Addiction Story #13, Milk Thistle: Out with the Oreos

I’m writing about my road in real time, right now using the Medium app on my iPhone 12 Mini. I had to dispose of the cookie villains.

Our sweet doggy, Sugar (named by Figgy nearly 17 years ago), in the faux fur hat my grandma bought me in the 1980s. Sug is the only kind of white sugar that’s good for me.

I’m such a sugar addict that I can’t co-exist with the Oreos.

No can do.

And I want to report on this addiction recovery journey in.the.moment, so here I am writing hard again for the third time in 24 hours.

Skippy is visiting her Mimi and Poppy this week, but Dan came back from ShopRite with Lady Gaga Oreos (Golden Oreos tinted pink, with yellow “creme” filling) for her and/or Figgy.

Oreos of all kinds are too tempting for me, so I asked him to please remove all of them from my midst the other night, and he did, but I saw them peeking out from under a mahogany dresser today.

I ate some, and then I faced my truth, stepped on the individual snack packs (so as not to open them), threw the Ladies in the trash and put the trash outside.

I plan to sign into a virtual recovery meeting early tomorrow morning. It’s a meeting I like, and I think I need to attend more meetings.

When I worked at Seventeen Magazine in the eighties, as a marketing writer, my co-worker clued me into the cookie jar.