I ate a whole box of whole grain crackers last night. They were meant for Milan and were supposed to last all week. I ate them the way Homer Simpson eats the contents of Marge's jewelry chest after taking an Ambien. I ate them at midnight when I couldn't sleep and the whir of the air conditioner was driving me to stare at the dark walls. I ate them after drinking a glass of water first. I ate them after I took a Klonopin, which only helped in that I ate the crackers slowly and dreamily, like a lazy machine. I woke up with crack pieces sticking to my sweaty chest.
I told Dr. S. He laughed. Then he asked: Did you eat them very fast? Me, no slowly. He: Like one after the other. Did it take 1/2 hour? Me: no more like an hour. He: when you started, did you know you were going to eat the whole box? Me: are you kidding me? hell no. just one or two. Or five. Me: this is the first time ever I've indulged in what you guys call binge eating. He: yes, it's very funny if you can laugh about it. Me: this is what I think of myself: I. am. a. fat. pig. and. I ate. like. a fat. pig. Then I had to laugh. He laughed too. It's good to be light-hearted about this, he said.
And gave me a prescription for dopamax, just in light of the seriousness of the situation (i.e. 1400 calories to the box) and some prescription strength folate, so my feet don't fall asleep. Well done.
