NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL DINNER!

My lips are very much burning right now, and the inside of my mouth is both numb and throbbing. That's because I just ate what will be my last meal of the day. I am reluctant to call this last meal dinner, because it most certainly didn't involve soup nor salad, nor was there an appetizer, a main-and-two-sides, and neither dessert nor coffee did pass through my nutrition portal. But I suppose, semantically, what I just ate was dinner, and it certainly was an appropriately inappropriate end to the last 20 hours of eating.

I just ate Bumble Bee Canned Sardines in Hot Sauce. Plain.
At least I was enough of a lady to empty the can onto a plate.
Now the plate is next to me.
There is a small lake of bright orange sauce pooling on its edge.
It smells like sardines.
I am not bothered.
But my mouth hurts!

Before this, at around 9:30pm, I demolished a Twix candy bar. Earlier, at 7pm, I inhaled a Mixed Fruit Yo-Crunch in less than thirty seconds, standing up, in an elevator. About a minute before that I super-chomped a Trail Mix granola bar.

Five hours before THAT, I ate a single Chocolate Chip Pop Tart, which had been abandoned on somebody's desk. Finder's keeper's and all that hooey.

I'll never know how it came to this. The shame is deep and scarring. I mean, I started my day with good enough intentions. Upon waking I had Jasmine Green Tea and TRIED to eat a Stonyfield Farm Strawberry Yogurt but it was, alas, EXPIRED. Expired yogurt is not breakfast. It is garbage.

So I had no choice but to PROCURE my breakfast OUT OF HOUSE, and here's where I set off a domino effect that was to be my body's downfall. I went to COSI, but only because it was literally on the ground floor of my office and I was running late. I ordered their SQUAGEL OMELETTE SANDWICH, which is evidence--in the squareness of the bagel and its name--of the dangers of over-branding. And I should have run for the motherfucking hills right there, but I didn't. I didn't even when I saw that the omelette in said Squagel Sandwich was PRE-MADE and PRE-SHAPED and LYING COLDLY IN A BLAND YELLOW PILE ON THE COUNTER. Apparently, Cosi can make fresh "bread," but cooking up a goddamn EGG is TOO MUCH!

I ordered it anyway:
EGG-PRODUCT RECTANGLE, SPINACH, TOMATO, on an ASIAGO SQUAGEL that tasted VAGUELY SWEET. I am no rocket surgeon, but since when does Asiago taste SWEET? EW!

I ate the whole thing and was, as is my way, immediately starved and revolted.

And that's how I come to this. Alone, my lips burning and fishy, my stomach full but its soul empty. Desperate, craving, wanting what it can never have: to undo this day and ingest something actually pleasurable, and with more than good enough intentions...Not to be FULL, but to be SATISFIED. Now that's what I call eating.