Anne A. Faze

429949_85212684Enough.  That is my primary concern.  I have three days to get enough and I know that I won’t and I’m trying to calm down about it.  It’s a weird compulsion, completely embarrassing if I had to tell someone face to face, someone I didn’t think was here out with some iota of compassion (a very odd thing to expect on the internet, but somehow, here, I do), but I keep thinking that as I look over at the side table next to the bed where I have essentially been parked for the past three days and see a half-eaten bag of gummy bears, a half a candy bar, a box of fruit snacks half dug into, a bag of popcorn half-eaten on the other side.  There is also a cup full of truffles I have not eaten because I’ve decided I don’t like them.  Too rich (hah!) So maybe that doesn’t count. Let’s be optimistic and say that doesn’t count. That’s today.  And sure, I didn’t have lunch.  But I definitely had pizza for dinner. And oatmeal for breakfast.  It’s crazy!  And it’s 11:00p.m.  and I don’t feel full, I don’t feel anything food related except willing to eat more.  Because after December 31st, the pantry is closed, I will be shut out and have to rely on my frazzled wits alone to be enough.

It’s not true, of course. I’m only planning on doing lower-carb and exercising and just trying to be gentler with myself, but the laissez-faire spirit has gotten the word that I’m cutting off all joy forever and so my cravings are insane. I feel insane.  This also might have something to do with having lost everything – my glasses, my ID (it’s around) and having no necessity to take care of anything.

I never call myself a binge eater, but surely, obviously, inherently, that’s what I am.  It has got to have mostly everything to do with this sense of enough.  With surfeit which is day one, baseline understanding with me.  If you go back four years with of posts, that’s what we were talking about and I was dealing with.  That it doesn’t feel like anything until you hate yourself and want to die amounts of food.  There is no signal to stop except culturally, socially.  I’m keen on that one.    However, eating by yourself means who cares if you eat everything on this table.  Nobody knows to lean in the doorway and ahem and side-eye my emotional eating.  Nobody should have to.

I have to be my own lifeguard.  My own referee.  I’ve got the superglue for the glasses again.  I’ve got a clean-up/suss out plan.  We went to the store and bought whatever is needed for the rest of 2014.  I didn’t eat everything on the table.  So don’t worry about me.  I’m sure you were wringing your hands and clutching your handkerchiefs while gazing out the window into the middle distances.

Days can slip through your fingers like grains of sand.  You think that’s something old people say until eventually you say it too.

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