We need to break up, Food and I. It’s the kind of breakup that I know needs to happen, but there’s something so seductive…so charming…so fulfilling about parts of it that, hell…we never get past “Can we talk?” and staring at each other uncomfortably.

We were having a perfectly nice evening. Lounging around, not saying much, and getting along fine. And then,

“You know. You should take that movie back.”

And

“Wear shorts. Who cares? It’s hot out.”

Before I know it, I’m halfway through the second gas station’s parking lot and I’m sure everyone, especially that skinny one eating ice cream, is looking at me and the way my shorts are creeping up in the middle. The way my knee fat is hanging out. And that leads me to thinking about the one eye that droops. The haircut I need to badly. And then, the wind. The breeze touches my hanging chin gently and I freeze. Not in my tracks, but inside.

I’ve let myself go. Go so far, I think I’m gone. I can’t really remember who I was before. Can’t remember what the beginning was like, the good times, or any of it. I need to stop this. Stop eating. Start moving. Start over. Stop thinking that I have no work ethic. Stop thinking that I lose value with each pound I gain.

The clouded, foggy feeling that accompanies this bad relationship…that neutralizes it…keeps me from following through. It closes back in around me as soon as I put my head down to avoid the people who are singing along to “I’m Too Sexy” and the woman who is enjoying her ice cream even though she is (I hope) bigger than I am. Quietly, I drop the movie in the slot and drift through the fog, across the street and into the grocery store.

Ah. Sanctuary.

1 litre of chocolate milk, a dozen cookies, a loaf of bread, a pound of butter and a can of reduced fat pringles (silly girl) later, I pay my tithes and come home. To stare at the food and write to you.

I need help. I think. Maybe.

Maybe I need Shmuley to come and talk to me about being a grown up. About having a functional relationship with food and myself. About getting things under control and learning how to be satisfied. Why are so many things getting better, but this food thing just keeps getting worse?