Last night I did something that I am not proud of. I binged. Badly. But not on alcohol.
It all started innocently enough. I had a great run home, relaxed in the Spa for an hour, cut my toe nails, made a pot of tea. Everything was going to plan- I was going to survive my first Friday without alcohol- intact. Then it started. Just little cravings- feeling slightly, well, empty. Nothing to be worried about- there's no harm in walking past the fridge and grabbing the occasional slice of cheese and odd bit of ham. Or making yourself a quick sandwich- no, this is all quite normal.
But something was still lacking. Whether it was down to boredom, hunger, or just needing to get out of the flat, I popped out for a quick cheeseburger. And a kebab. I still wasn't overtly concerned- I had a ton of exercise yesterday, and given my uber active lifestyle I generally tend to eat considerably more than most anyway. I don't keep junk food in the house as a rule, but figured I should treat myself to some chocolate, so I called into the corner shop downstairs and picked up a few bits and bobs. Including a packet of Magnum Ice Creams- they'd be nice to have around, right? And they'll last me ages.
Ultimately, those supple, creamy bars didn't stand a chance. I gently opened one and gingerly ran my lips over one corner and our destinies instantly became irreversibly intertwined. I slowly bit down. Vanilla cream blasted through my mouth with the intensity of a hundred supernovae and I bit again, and again- the hunger in my soul being fueled by the flames of hell as I ravenously crammed more chocolate and more vanilla into myself. I couldn't stop. I ripped open the second bar with the voraciousness of a tornado on a tin roof and grabbed it with both hands savouring every last crumb of chocolate as the molten mixture flowed down my throat. Waves of unbridled pleasure cascaded over every ounce of my being- slowly at first, until I was bucking with the caloric convulsions of religious ecstasy like a mustang seeing the open plains for the first time. The city lights below blurred and swirled around me and for a brief moment I could feel the birth of the Universe. And there was chocolate- oh yes there was chocolate. Fererros rolling off the back of my tongue as my eyes fluttered and rolled into the back of my head, avalanches of caramel flowing out the corner of my mouth. M&Ms being scattered in the diabetic shock version of a tickertape parade. I didn't care. About anything.
And then just as quickly as it started, it was over. My stomach jumped into my throat as I plummeted back to Nothingness. Emptyness enveloped me. My balcony, strewn with the debris of my overindulgence. The empty magnum box gently luffed in the wind as I slowly stood up and ambled off to bed.
I woke up this morning wishing it was all a dream until I tasted a little bit of chocolate still stuck to my top lip. Did I really sink so low as to substitute eating my feelings in lieu of numbing them? What's next- gorging on KFC while halfheartedly leafing through the latest issue of the O Magazine?
I needed to clear my head, so I went for my usual morning Promenade around the Peninsula. One of the many joys of Contemporary Harbourside Living is dressing up and strutting about like you own the place. Even us relative Plebians in South Central Pyrmont are known to do the rounds (usually before settling in for the day at one of the many colourful drinking establishments scattered amongst the Plane trees of Boulevard du Harris). I immediately felt better- enjoying the stillness of the sky reflected in the glassy surface of the Harbour. A light morning breeze was whispering into the top leaves of the palms and I felt content, in myself and with everything.
Until the Farmer's Market loomed into view, as ominous as a black squall on the horizon of an otherwise fine day.
I paused and thought. We can't stop here- this is Calorie Country.
And then without a second thought I succumbed, and resigned myself to the abundance of the Universe.
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