Dream Binge
<<2003-03-26 - 11:43 a.m.>>

I want a fucking binge. A big one, like the ones I used to have in my kitchen at home when everyone was out for the day. The kind where I can sit at the kitchen table and eat everything in the fridge, until I feel too sick to think about anything else. Take it away, take it away. I don't want to think about anything else. I want to devote all of my attention to ingesting a massive quantity of food which will make me feel nauseated with fullness and guilt.

See, now I just sound pathetic. But it's true. I want to binge. I really, really do. A binge would make it all go away.

A savory binge, I think, salty...but not unbalanced, I'd have sweet things, too, but not cakey sweet things, nothing that clogs—things with substance, with bulk, but nothing that gets the thick way cakey things do in my mouth. Cookies would be okay. Crunchy cookies. Chocolate cookies with white chocolate chips, or my home-backed chocolate-chip cookies, the kind with just the right taste of slightly salty butteriness. Rice Krispie treats. Fried chicken with honey mustard, a crispy coating with just the right balance of saltiness and spicy zing. Bagels with tomato sauce and melted cheese—cheddar, maybe, or mozzarella. Cappellini, with lots and lots of butter and pecorino. Salty potato chips with onion dip. Chex Mix. Triscuits and goat cheese. Tuna salad from Jefferson Market on French bread...maybe with some melted cheese (are we sensing a cheese theme here?). Garlic croutons. Maybe a croissant or two. French onion soup and dark, crispy french fries (this is the France tangent) with lots of ketchup and salt. I'd have to go out for that part. The Galaxy, maybe, or the Venus.

Not in an ice cream mood, for some reason. But some Tasti might be nice.

Chocolate with almonds.

And even writing this, I know it wouldn't help. But it used to help, even just for a little while. I hate that it doesn't help anymore. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

Tomato-basil soup with toast drizzled with garlicky olive oil.

White chocolate pretzels.

Cheesy popcorn. Lox. Thick slices of good Italian salami, the kind you can extract the pepporcorns from with your teeth.

It wouldn't help. Not anymore. But the things that would help are too hard.

I don't want this, it's too hard, I'm petulant and wanting to sit down and pout. Too hard, too hard, all of this business of living like an actual human being. Make it go away.

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