Monday morning
Sometime Sunday I'd invariably get unease, I suppose about returning to work the next morning, and I'd have this savage urge to snack. To stuff and trash my body. Last week it was a bag of M&Ms the length of my forearm (dark chocolate and on sale - the bag easily passed my health conscience's flexible check). This week I was more desperate and I got a bag of Cheddar and Sour Cream chips the size of my torso. Nasty. I know.
The stuffing would go on throughout Sunday evenings. But by morningtime remorse would get to me and I'd want to get rid of this guilt and anxiety in the form of half-eaten junk on our kitchen counter. That's when I'd snap it up on my way out of the door, and discreetly place it on the common room table upon arriving at work. It usually goes very well. The guilt food would be taken out a little after lunch. And I feel relieved.
I think of my unknowing office mates. About how they are eating my anxiety. And how easy it is to fat-poison an office with half-eaten junk.
Ah, office life.
The stuffing would go on throughout Sunday evenings. But by morningtime remorse would get to me and I'd want to get rid of this guilt and anxiety in the form of half-eaten junk on our kitchen counter. That's when I'd snap it up on my way out of the door, and discreetly place it on the common room table upon arriving at work. It usually goes very well. The guilt food would be taken out a little after lunch. And I feel relieved.
I think of my unknowing office mates. About how they are eating my anxiety. And how easy it is to fat-poison an office with half-eaten junk.
Ah, office life.
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