OK, not really, I mean nothing pale, slimy and disgusting has come out of my butt…
But I CANNOT STOP EATING.
It’s been going on all week. I bet I’ve gained 5 pounds.
On Tuesday, I brought sliced deli turkey and a loaf of bread to work for lunch (there was cheese, mayo, and mustard already in the fridge here in the office), thinking I’d just leave it here and have turkey sandwiches for lunch over the next 2 or 3 days.
I ate my first turkey sandwich at 8:30 am…
… and had downed my FOURTH turkey sandwich by 2:30 pm. :eek:
Nonetheless, I was still hungry for dinner when I got home, so I made a stack of pancakes and a few slices of bacon.
The next day, I had two turkey sandwiches for lunch, then ran out of turkey, so I resorted to gobbling up slices of bread for the rest of the day. When I got home, I had a big vat of angel hair with pesto.
Today I decided to try eating breakfast, so I swung by Burger King (I know, I know) at about 8:30 and got French Toastix.
Nonetheless, by 10:30 I was jonesin’ for food, so I went to a deli down the street for a fried chicken salad.
Anyway, here it is barely 4:00, and I’m back to sucking down slices of bread again (oooh! and I found some slices of American cheese in the office fridge!).
In addition, I have been completely addicted to soda lately–I’ve been sucking down two or three cans a day, when I usually drink about four cans a month (give or take the occasional Rum & Coke I might get out at a bar once in awhile)
So what’s going on, here? I mean, I love food (I’m definitely in the “Live to Eat” camp)–I’ve never dieted, and I pretty much eat what I want without feeling guilty (who loves you, bacon?)–but I DO try to avoid eating too much meat and/or junk food (it just makes me feel kind of gross), which is not difficult for me, and I don’t usually require, say, FOUR SANDWICHES in a six-hour time-span to feel satisfied. In fact, under normal circumstances, I’d feel miserably full after such a feast, and I HATE that feeling.
So what, is my body trying to tell me that it wants to weigh 185 instead of 132 (make that 137, what with the way I’ve been carrying on this week)? Is it saying I need a bigger cushion (for sweeter pushin’ )? That I’d make a great “Plus Size” model?
Am I missing some vital nutrient that can only be found in Coke, Sprite, and Orange Minute Maid Soda?
Is this just a psychosomatic response to the fact that I’m broke as hell until payday (Monday)? You know, with poverty comes hunger, or something…?
Will I be able to fit into my car by this time next week?
Just for the record, NO, I’m not pregnant, unless by Immaculate Conception (in which case will God let me name the kid myself?)…
…and otherwise, I feel fine. Not tired, not irritable, not itchy, nothing unusual…
But I think my coworker is about to perform an intervention, over here, if she sees me inhaling another slice of bread or cheese.