Okay, so here's the thing about grief: it makes you sooooo tired. I'm sure it's that and not the nine zillion calories I eat every day in an attempt to smother the grief with Nutella and wine.
Because that's what I do. It's been my modus operandi since Thomas died. I try to kill grief with food, or somehow disable it with credit card transactions (like when I bought two pairs of shoes on the way home from errand-running this afternoon).
Both are effective, but only fleetingly. Somehow I'm still pretty sad. And kind of fat. Huh.
Oh, shopping and eating do work in the moment, of course. Spectacularly so. A big spoonful of Nutella completely eclipses EVERYTHING for the 4 seconds it stays on the spoon. And the rush of finding two cute pairs of sandals that actually fit my chubby feet? Bliss that repeated itself when I got home and tried them both on again.
The afterglow is pretty short-lived, unfortunately. But I'm no quitter. Eventually I'll find just the right combination of eating and spending to kill grief forever. I'm sure of it.
Right now I'm trying salami and beer. And later I'm planning to hit the cosmetics aisle at the drug store.
I'm nothing if not committed.
Of course, I kid. I know that what I'm doing is stupid and unhealthy and fruitless. But I figure since I know that it's a crap plan of action, it's totally okay to continue along this destructive path for at least a little while longer. Because knowing is half the battle and blah blah blah.
Shit continues to happen. I will self-medicate for as long as it takes me to not need to self-medicate. I'll get there. I have before and I will again.
But for now, beer and salami it is. And some new lipstick later.