I’ve been staring at the inside of my refrigerator for about five months now. And today, I bought a sandwich.
It’s a turkey panini. Fully opposite of what I’ve come to know as my normal dietary intake of plants.
I felt like a criminal. Or an alcoholic.
Not to say I was afraid of being caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to do, but to say I was publicly defying synaptic pruning that systematically renounced sandwiches.
I even opted for the potato salad rather than the greens.
I’m not saying I need to be religious about my food. But I guess I’m saying I’ve been very religious about my food.
Fighting back the temptation to believe this means I’m fundamentally a person who makes excuses for her life; like I need to justify something I’m not supposed to be doing and I hate that quality in a person, I’m wondering what that makes me.
I hate excuses. Can I just eat my sandwich?
