Friday, June 4, 2010

Possessed by the slave to food

In less than 24 hours, my too-busy work schedule came to a grinding halt yesterday. It felt likes being on one of those moving sidewalks, walking faster and faster and dragging a big suitcase, and then going sprawling when you hit the end. My big writing project is on hold until the client sends more info, a manuscript project is on hold while the client rewrites portions, two dissertations are arriving much later than expected.

Sadly, my workaholic self could not celebrate, could not breathe a sigh of relief and settle in with a good book, she could only flail in the nothingness of the inactivity and then start to eat. I kept myself busy with odds and ends until 1:30, went to a writing group where I had a good time, then got home at 4:30. I settled down in front of Netflix and ate and ate and ate.

I didn't eat sugar unless I count the low-sugar granola bars and the package of dried mango. I had a good dinner. I didn't go to the Plaid Pantry and buy candy or ice cream or even Cheetos. But I kept eating way beyond full, way beyond sated, and I never got satisfied.

I felt lonely and it didn't occur to me to call anyone or go do something. I felt bereft and it didn't occur to me to pray or meditate or pull out a spiritual book that might have brought me some comfort. I just ate. My old self felt completely in charge of the situation.

I woke up hungover this morning. Not from the food, other than quantity, everything was pretty good for me--little sugar, little fat, little salt. But I had an emotional hangover from restlessness and boredom. Back on track today, one day at a time.

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