Perhaps this says a lot about my own personality/social ability, but I have had more–love–feelings for food than I have for people. This is an irrefutable fact.
There are those days where all goes wrong.
And nowhere and no thing can bring you peace and calm.
Everyone you’ve ever loved and counted on has left you.
Your parents/siblings/family members are busy at work or at home or whatever it is they do that isn’t constantly tending to your every discomfort.
Your friends are ditching you for other people or each other, or working on homework and progressing their own lives. And you don’t want to bother them because that would be selfish, and you just feel trapped in a Catch-22: self-absorbance vs. solitude.
Your crush doesn’t pay attention to you. Or doesn’t exist. Or only exists as a celebrity. Or in history. Or in fiction.
You’re failing all your classes because, ugh, midterms and finals. And you procrastinated. So now you have to study, and do all this homework, and all these projects, and write papers and essays and Powerpoints and all this other stuff you don’t want to do that isn’t really all that hard but takes up a lot of time.
Basically, you’re in denial.
And you want to ignore all your responsibilities and stop existing for just a litttttttle while.
And you just are bathing in a pool of self-pity.
But then you remember, there’s still food…
And there’s like, a lot of different kinds of food.
In fact, there’s one for almost every need you’ve ever had.
It’s delicious. I’m serious. Even though you’ve been eating food for many many years, some of you decades, the lower you feel, the better it tastes.
People tell you you have a problem. You want to tell them they just don’t understand.
They keep wasting your time and distracting you from what’s really important.
You defend food like it’s the only worthwhile thing left in your life.
Because, let’s be real. What are external relationships when you can have coffee?
Yeah, that’s what I thought.