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I’m Not Hungry

If I’ve ever said those words to you, I’ve either been deathbed sick. Or really really pissed.

I’m not hungry is generally code for, my brain is consumed with thoughts of all the ways I could kill you and it doesn’t have space for food right now.

But this morning…

I think I may have started sleep eating.

Not, like, waking in the middle of the night for a little snacky kind of sleep eating.

If I wake up, I know I’m getting a snack. That’s not new. Although, I also rarely wake up in the middle of the night. I generally slip into a mild coma for 7 hours every night. I’m, like, the opposite of Rogue.

But I mean I think I’ve started having a full on meal. While I sleep.

I’m always hungry. Always. That’s one of the first things people learn about me. You never have to ask if I’m hungry. The answer is always yes.

And really. I’m probably never gonna give you an opportunity to ask. I generally announce my hunger on a pretty consistent schedule. You could set your watch by my hunger announcements. (We’re calling it announcements and not whining.)

I wake up hungry every damn morning.

Every morning.

The moment I wake from my coma. And become aware of existing again. My very first thought is, “Damn, I’m hungry.”

You know how they say you know you’re in love when your very last thought before you go to sleep and your very first thought when you wake up is of the some person?

Yeah. Mine have never been of a person.

Mine have always been of food.

It’s a pretty special relationship.

Except this morning.

I mean, I still woke up thinking of food.

But I also woke up feeling full.

It was immediately unsettling.

And very confusing.

It’s not like I had some huge meal before bed that my body was still processing.

In fact, I didn’t eat that much at all yesterday.

I was actually very cognizant of the amount of food I ate, because I didn’t do a damn thing yesterday.

I’m on call this weekend. Which means spending my days chasing down children. But only by phone. Because COVID.

And I’ve got some injuries. No. I know. I’ve always got some injuries. But these are new ones. I mean, my left foot and ankle are old injuries. But my right lower leg is a new injury. One that I’m pretty sure will only heal through rest. Or medical intervention. And we all know I’m not seeking out the actual medicals for it.

So rest it is.

Two days oughtta do it.

So I decided to spend the weekend locked inside my home. Doing chores and reading and resting and shit. And not experiencing even a tiny bit of FOMO at the bike riding or Tinker Cliffs hiking or fucking 40 mile 311 to 220 back to 311 that was happening. Without me.

I mean, I did some strength training. And went for a walk with Lobo.

But that’s it.

That is the extent of my physicality.

This is my entire world this weekend.

Just right there on that couch surrounded by all of the books.

So, I’ve worked really damn hard not to eat all the things.

In fact, there aren’t really things here to eat. Because I haven’t even gone to the grocery store yet.

So I’m not even sure where my body found the food while I was sleeping.

Unless it broke into a neighbor’s home? Probably not The BFFF’s home. Because she doesn’t keep food there either. And hopefully not the new neighbors behind me. That seems like it would be a rough (though thoroughly explanatory) way to welcome them to the neighborhood.

Or maybe my body has finally decided to start consuming itself. Which would be amazing. I hope it’s starting with my inner thighs. Because chafing.

But really. This is an unsettling feeling.

In fact, I’ve been awake for an hour now and I’m still not hungry.

That can’t be right…

Maybe this is my new normal.

Maybe my body spent the last 45 years consuming all the things and it has finally gotten enough to eat.

Maybe I get to be a normal human now.

Which would be really excellent timing with my metabolism grinding to a halt.

So, I guess I’m gonna embrace it for now.

As I recline on my couch.

With my books.

Just, nobody light a match. This place is basically filled with kindling.

And also, still bring the Doritos if we’re going somewhere. We don’t wanna get crazy.


Just reading and writing and running and looking for my happy place.

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