carrott pizza

Work has been nuts today. I'm taking a break to write this because if I find one more edit that I ALREADY MADE on a .pdf I'm gonna, in the immortal words of Dave Chappelle, choke a bitch.

I was walking back to my office just a moment ago and thought "I'm hungry." I could eat the yogurt I brought, or almonds (already got into those between brekkie and lunchola) but what I really want is PIZZA. I NEVER want pizza. Or very rarely at least. I have a good friend who is trying to "get off of" pizza (like it's black tar heroin) because she eats it at least three times a week. I'm much more apt to eat asian food of any variety three times a week than chow on a pizza. But today...today I want it. I want grease and cheese; I'm even thinking something Hawaii'an-esque, which surprises the hell out of me, since it wasn't until recently that I began to see the merits of pineapple on pizza. I know, I know. Some consider it sacrilege. I just love the sweet/salt combo. Mmmmmmmmm.

I've settled for carrotts. I'm munching on them now.

This craving, it's total, unadulterated Stress Eating. It's coming from somewhere deep deep inside. This desire is potent, the drive almost animalistic. MUST HAVE PIZZA TO CALM FRAZZLED NERVES. Recognizing that, I have to wonder what it IS that makes me want to coat my arteries with all that gook. I know better (which means ZERO in this case) and I'm sure I would feel like shit after I ate a piece. Mentally and physically. But I'm still fascinated by how strong the WANT is. I'm sitting in it, though, and I'm going to do my damndest not to give in to the this need for soothing, calm, fullness (?). I've got three baby carrotts left. I'm chewing them slow, like they're the only food I'll have for days. Lord help me.