I can’t stop eating today.

No seriously, I can’t. Everyone knows those days; your first waking thought is food and every second thought after that is how to acquire and consume more grub. It’s not so bad in the earlier part of the day; you still have two meals to look forward to after breakfast. But by around 8pm, you’ve taken to stealthily opening the fridge in silence, hoping that nobody will hear you rummaging around for a post-dinner, pre-supper snack.

In general, I like my food. Eating to live is a foreign concept to me. But I don’t eat mammoth portions, and I usually know when to put down the chocolate (with the notable exception of PMS week). Today, however, has been shameful for me, and it’s not even over.

So I started my day with two fried eggs on toast. Absolutely delicious and intended to keep me going for some time – ya know, protein and all that. Ha. Two hours later, in town with my boyfriend, we both fell into hunger-triggered stupors, and had to return home for lunch before the crankiness set in. Well, I was already cranky by this stage but not intolerably so. Lunch consisted of an Innocent sweet potato chili pot, which was filling but oddly unsatisfying. I think I was expecting something more spicy and flavoursome. To fill this disappointing void, I tucked into a bag of O’Donnells salt and vingear crisps. Which, by the way, are the king of salt and vinegar snacks.  This was topped off with two squares of Daim Milka chocolate.

You’d think at this stage that I’d be somewhat satiated, especially knowing that dinner was about four hours away. It was 4pm by then as it was. Alas, no. Channel-hopping on a Thursday afternoon is usually fruitless, so I had to settle on Man v Food on Dave HD. Big mistake; this normally nausea-inducing show actually spurred on the little food gremlins who have taken up residence in my belly. Adam Richman was sampling a twelve-decker deli meat sandwich (turkey, pastrami and beef for those interested) and I was literally salivating. I couldn’t make it to the end of the episode without dashing to the kitchen for half a salami and mayonnaise sandwich. Because, you know, a full sandwich would have amounted to complete gluttony.

That’s the most recent thing I’ve eaten today. And, surprise, surprise, I’m still famished. I had to mute Man v Food because the different cuisines on the screen were distracting me from typing. I could turn it off but I need to know if he can finish this massive calzone. Le boyfriend will be back from soccer training in around ten minutes, and we’ll both start preparing dinner then. Last Monday I made four batches of a delicious chicken tikka masala that I cook from a Patak’s tikka masala paste. Batch four will be consumed shortly with some brown rice. Despite my feasting this afternoon, I know that I’ll eat every last morsel and still be hunting for chocolate in two hours’ time.

I badly need saving from myself. I know, to some people, what I’ve eaten today is hardly outrageous. But when your ass has been nicknamed Jigglypuff and there are minus three weeks until your beach holiday, things are serious. What if the gremlins get greedier and I wind up in A&E needing to have a tub of Ben & Jerry’s surgically removed from my hand? What if I have to be rolled onto the airplane to Spain, and my family have to watch me closely on the beach so that I don’t turn into barbecued pork? My situation is approaching a critical state.

How do people resist the mating call of the fridge when chronic peckishness strikes? Do I need to padlock the larder press and give the key to my boyfriend? I know that boredom has a lot to do with my ailment, which is why I started writing the blog post – to distract myself. However, writing about food hasn’t really had the desired effect, believe it or not.

Here’s hoping that my dinner will alleviate the worst of my symptoms, and that I’ll be fully recovered by tomorrow. I’ve tried drinking copious amounts of water with fruit cordial, but that’s only resulted in multiple trips to the bathroom. Which I must walk past the fridge to get to. A situation such as mine truly is hopeless.

But for now, I’m off to prepare what I hope will be my last supper tonight. While my rice boils, I’ll attempt to distract myself by stitching that unfortunately-placed hole in my boyfriend’s jeans – proof that I am desperate at this point. Wish me luck as I attempt to resist the belly gremlins, and pray for my soul if I do not post again; a sure sign that my fingers have become too sausage-like to type.

Adieu.

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