“Food Makes Me Happy”: Deciphering my eating obsession.

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It’s not even what you could call a food obsession.  It doesn’t revolve around WHAT I eat, exactly; I’m not searching out good food, new food, strange food, fattening food (at least not in particular), healthy food, exotic food, comfort foods — I’m still a notably picky eater, so that wouldn’t really work for me.  I’m the one who finds a dish I like at a restaurant and sticks with it — and not so much anymore because I’ve FOUND SOMETHING that I can eat and enjoy, but because it’s so good that I want THAT, I want it, I’m hungry and it sounds good and I’m sure I will enjoy every last bit.

I really am just hungry a lot.  And if I’m not, I still eat if there is food around – out of boredom (even though I’m not technically “bored,” I’m just avoiding the mountain of things I have to do).  My preparation for anything includes thinking “will I get hungry?” and, if the situation calls for it (which to me it often does), bringing snacks in my purse.  Yes, to really strange places.

It doesn’t help that I’ve only gotten through the “Eat” section of Eat Pray Love.  Which wasn’t easy to do — I mean, she’s candid and it’s OK for a little while, but then it just gets old.  I hope it gets better while she’s in India.

Anyway.  I have a strong desire to get to the bottom of this obsession (and I actually took a brownie break in between those paragraphs – not kidding).  What is it that has made me this way?  When I was younger I was frighteningly skinny.  I hated being teased about it so much that I did everything I could to gain weight.  The day I made it to 100 pounds was a celebratory occassion.  That must be it – my habit’s catching up with me now.

Then there are days like today when I eat purely out of comfort.  I didn’t need to get that chocolate chip bagel to go when I got Panera for lunch, but after having an icky morning complete with slippery sidewalks and spilling hot chocolate on myself, a little comfort food was exactly what I needed.

Part of me wants to just give in to my inner Liz Lemon (as I’ve already been doing – in every aspect of life, really).  Is it really that terrible? Meh… sort of.

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