Tying on the Feedbag

My life feels like such shit right now, I did the only thing I could think of to feel better - I went to the store and bought $30 worth of junk food.

I'm not sure why I feel this way, but I've still got a whole lot of emotional crap to wade through. The ramped-up communication with Dear Husband over the past couple of days has taken its toll. I still miss my friends K and Floyd something fierce.

And I found out this week that the "human rights" organization that fired me last year is finally releasing the report into which I poured my heart and soul. A friend slipped me a copy of the embargoed report, and I was a little stunned to see that 14 months later, they've essentially rewritten what I wrote in the same old tired institutional language that I was trying to get away from.

None of this stuff is worth getting upset about, but I'm already feeling a little fragile. And food was my first escape route - before books, cigarettes, sex, alcohol and drugs. It always seems to be my fallback position.

But I know that feeding at the trough isn't going to help me feel better - it's ultimately only going to make things worse. There are no answers to be found at the bottom of an ice cream carton, any more than at the bottom of a bottle or a bag of dope.

At least I don't think there are. I'll let you know when I get to the bottom.