Yummy Food

I don't know what's wrong with me. I love food. And I hate it. Right now I'm sitting here wanting something to eat, but I have no idea what, and the fact that I know whatever it is I'll have to go to the store to get is keeping me from thinking too much about it. I ate fruit and a salad today. Yesterday I had a Twix. The day before I actually made pasta. That's it. I've been too lazy or apathetic or upset or stressed to bother with anything else. I don't like it. I LOVE to eat. I may have an eating disorder, but it's not the kind you're used to. I don't like to eat when things are bad. So I don't. By the time I get hungry, it's late and I'm tired and don't feel like fixing anything. I wish I had a personal chef to make me eat. I might even be happier. Food is fun. I like to eat. I realized the other day at the doctor's that I'm underweight, and it kind of bothered me. I like being thin, but I know it won't be long before someone pretends to be worried about me and offers some sort of stupid help. I'm crazy, but not in the way that people think. I don't believe in the Prozac nation. I don't believe in doctors and therapy. The only thing wrong with me is that I have feelings. Sometimes I wish I didn't. Then I wouldn't be nursing a broken heart and obsessing about some girl I barely know hanging out with my ex and feeling like she's edging me out. I wouldn't be so critical about my creative projects. I wouldn't be so irritated with my deadbeat family. I wouldn't be so lonely. I would be able to skip through life all the time without a care in the world. It sounds like such a beautiful picture.