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I never want to see another pastry as long as I live

So Julian walks into work today with a dozen old fashion sour cream donuts, the decadent kind that are so greasy they’re practically liquid. I hadn’t eaten anything even relatively nutritious all day, so I was dubious about stuffing myself with so many empty calories, no matter how delectable their vessel. A grim black and white poster with gothic font flashed in my brain: WANTED: OLD FASHION SOUR CREAM DONUTS. STATUS: DELICIOUS. I ate three of them, which according to the nutritional label contained eleventy-hundred billion calories, all of them fat and sugar.

I had to head straight to Sieg from work, and didn’t want to stop for dinner to save time and money. The donut calories shot straight through me, and after feeling like a ball of glowing white energy for a couple hours, I was again ravenous.* Sadly, the only thing I had to eat in my bag was a gargantuan, days-old muffin of questionable quality I picked up on a midnight Zoka’s run. It turned out to be pumpkin, and more than a match for my hunger. It was around eleven when I finished the beast and by then I was feeling decidedly unwell, my intestines no doubt filled with a doughy mass of sugar and grease. Defying all logic, by midnight I was hungry again, and no amount of money could coerce me to choke down food from the lounge. So much simultaneous bodily feedback (hungry! queasy! sleepy!) is disorienting. It felt, more than anything else, like an energetic midget had gotten hold of my midsection and was shaking vigorously. Luckily Ben had some trailmix, which I’ve been led to believe has some fiber.

If I’m not violently ill tomorrow, I’ll be spending another marathon programming session in the same spot. This time, I’m bringing some apples and goldfish crackers.

On a closing note, Iíve decided Iím either going to drop 378 or kill myself. I havenít decided which yet.

*If you want to picture my metabolism (and I encourage this sort of activity, when it’s practical), imagine a man shoveling load after load of coal into the sweltering furnace of a rushing steam locomotive. Except, instead of coal, it’s mostly food, and instead of rushing, it’s mostly sitting around typing things. Sometimes I play frisbee.

Posted in Musings.

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