Bags Full
Theresa came over on Sunday morning to collect her prize. I had invited her to help me with the changeover between old ways of eating and new ways of eating. I had plenty of food — fine food — that I’d no longer be eating. I had flavored yogurts and loaves of bread and frozen dinners. Cereals. I needed to get them out of the house or I would eat them. She lives in a big communal house with a bunch of punk kids who always need food. It was perfect. I imagined that we’d pack all of this food into one (or maybe two) plastic grocery bags full of the stuff, and send her on...
Read MoreJunkie
You know it’s bad when the only image you can find to describe the scene is “needle to a vein” and all it involves is you, a super-duper-sized milkshake, and the slow-drip way you are sucking that thick, sweet, chocolatey goodness straight down your throat. Straight. Down. Your. Throat. Like, without even letting it touch your tongue. For forty-five minutes. Curled up in the corner of the couch. Needle to a vein.
Read More


