I’ve noticed that the more I keep my mind busy, the less hungry I get. So, when my day consists of signing a lease, coordinating the relocation of all my earthly possessions, and trying to pack the cat who showed me what he thought about that with his claws – well, I was lucky I remembered to eat at all. We won’t even discuss how devastating it was when my new, I’m-an-adult-now-who-can-buy-a-couch-from-a-store-not-named-Goodwill sofa wouldn’t fit around the front hallway. Tears were shed, people. Big, snotty, I-can’t-breathe-because-I’m-choking-on-my-microsuede-induced-grief, kind of tears.
Even though I was carrying boxes up and down the 22 steps to my new place all day, I only ended up eating a Panini for breakfast, a chocolate chip cookie dough milkshake from Steak N’ Shake for lunch, and a Subway salad for dinner. And honestly, I had to force myself to finish that salad. During the day I would occasionally think “Geez, I really need to eat more. I’m going to become one of those crazy people who tries to subsist on 800 calories a day and collapses because all her muscle has been metabolized. How will I carry my lamps up the stairs then, huh?” But I just wasn’t hungry. There was too much to do.
Today I’m still so stressed and tired I haven’t eaten as much as I usually do. Not to mention the fact that my refrigerator currently only contains three cups of yogurt, two cheesesticks, half a 2 Liter of Diet Dr. Pepper and an unused packet of Italian dressing. By the end of the night I was really wishing I’d packed that rum my mom had offered me out of the cupboard. Also, I don’t own a microwave and can’t buy one until I unearth my 20% off coupon buried in one of these damn boxes. Cardboard is high in fiber, right? Maybe I can eat and unpack at the same time.