Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

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 her way. Four bags later and I began thinking, “Okay, anything else I find, I will just throw away. This is too embarrassing.” I was so ashamed that one single woman had so much food crammed into such a small kitchen.

I didn’t remember buying all of that food. Didn’t remember putting it away. I couldn’t fathom the mentality which convinced me that I’d be able to eat it all — especially since I don’t eat the food I have at home anyway. I binge on fast food and pastries fresh from the bakery. Every few weeks, I go through my refrigerator and throw away anything that stinks. Then I hide my burger wrappers and milkshake cups and cheesecake boxes in the trashcan outside.

Four bags of food. Four stuffed bags — could have easily made five or even six. I carried a box of cereal in my hand. It was so much food.

(I kept the donut holes. I wanted to finish them off before I had to give everything up completely.)