I like rituals. I also like discounts. More than those, however, I like doing things with my dad. So, naturally, one of my favorite simple joys in life is when Noah’s Bagels sells a dozen bagels for $8 on Monday mornings, and my dad and I drop all work responsibilities to go and pick up our gluten breakfasts for the week ahead.
I hesitate to start yet another blog post with the intro sentence "it's been rough," but... it's been rough. I will spare you, dear reader, the details, but from the moment I wake up the world is shrouded in desolation. I am out of work due to California's stay-at-home order, and mostly have nothing to do all day. With my sister in school, my dad working, and my mom busy on the phone with her sisters, I am simultaneously alone and claustrophobic under my parents' roof. Even Coco, my dog, did not want to go on a walk with me.
For those of you who read yesterday's post (or last week's posts), it would be a pretty safe assumption that it's been a tough week. I am not going to delve into the gritty details, but I have been steamrolled emotionally, and the biggest toll that takes is on my stomach. For nearly a week, despite my intense hunger, I have been unable to stomach adult-sized meals, held down vomit, and elected to snack on simple foods like chips or bread because anything more complicated was too mentally daunting. In other words, I've simultaneously been very hungry, but at a complete loss for an appetite.
*** CONTENT WARNING: DISORDERED EATING ***
Somehow, my very mean Hispanic family has dubbed me with two simultaneous and possibly contradictory nicknames: "gordita," meaning little fat girl, and "picky," meaning... picky. They concurrently decided that while I will eat anything and everything set on a plate before me, I will also refuse to eat any of it. So what is the truth? Do I love food, or do I hate it? The answer is both. |
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