The Impatient Appetite
It’s 9:30 in the morning and I’m thinking about lunch. And drooling over the nachos and wings I’ll have after work. Maybe even a side of beer.
My name is Brigid, and I’m addicted to eating.
I love seeing recipes on blogs and the amazing pictures that accompany them. The food always looks delish. And so easy! The recipe is always something you can whip up in a pinch, I PROMISE. And healthy, to boot! Swap this for that to shave 100 calories off your meal (I tried to think of a swap as an example, but as a kitchen recluse, nothing came to mind).
There’s nothing like scrolling through blogs and seeing picture after picture of scrumptiousness and knowing that I’ll never taste such decadence. I used to think it was about my laziness. I get home and don’t have the energy to wrestle with the leaning tower of pans in my cupboard, or to spend time chopping and preparing raw foods.
I’ve recently come to the conclusion that it’s more about my appetite. Because I? Am NOT lazy. It's just my appetite refuses to wait, is all. I’m fine on the commute home, but the second I walk through the door, my stomach is like, “FOOD!! NOW!!!” I can’t say “no! Wait! Dinner will be ready in an hour!” I’ve tried. Resistance is futile.
Last night I had some stuff I needed to do after work. Hit up the library, put away some laundry, remove the chipped mess that was posing as nail polish, etc. I put on some music and went to work. B got home soon after and asked me what I was cooking. I was boiling eggs for my lunch, so I had a pot of water on the stove. It was a pretty momentous occasion. A pot? On our stove? What a novel concept.
I asked what he wanted to do for dinner and he mentioned a pizza we had picked up at the supermarket. I preheated the oven and went back to my nails. Then my eggs were done and I had to switch them to cold water.
By that time, the oven was ready, so I stuck the pizza in. I warmed up some frozen green beans to make the meal; this wasn’t just a pizza, this was dinner. Then I had to fill B in on my latest rant (I had to wait FIVE minutes for a train during rush hour; unacceptable!) and how everyone who works at our library is either incompetent or ill-mannered.
Then, whaddya know, the pizza was ready. In fact, it was a little crispy. I guess I left it in too long when I was complaining about the train (seriously, MBTA, get your shit together).
The take-away here? I barely had time to listen to my bullying stomach when my mind was occupied elsewhere. Maybe I should have a list of chores every night. Imagine how clean our house would be! And how productive I would feel!
On second thought, I’d rather camp on the couch with a block of cheese. The terrible reality trash I watch is enough to make you feel good about yourself no matter how disheveled your life is.
My name is Brigid, and I’m addicted to eating.
I love seeing recipes on blogs and the amazing pictures that accompany them. The food always looks delish. And so easy! The recipe is always something you can whip up in a pinch, I PROMISE. And healthy, to boot! Swap this for that to shave 100 calories off your meal (I tried to think of a swap as an example, but as a kitchen recluse, nothing came to mind).
There’s nothing like scrolling through blogs and seeing picture after picture of scrumptiousness and knowing that I’ll never taste such decadence. I used to think it was about my laziness. I get home and don’t have the energy to wrestle with the leaning tower of pans in my cupboard, or to spend time chopping and preparing raw foods.
I’ve recently come to the conclusion that it’s more about my appetite. Because I? Am NOT lazy. It's just my appetite refuses to wait, is all. I’m fine on the commute home, but the second I walk through the door, my stomach is like, “FOOD!! NOW!!!” I can’t say “no! Wait! Dinner will be ready in an hour!” I’ve tried. Resistance is futile.
Last night I had some stuff I needed to do after work. Hit up the library, put away some laundry, remove the chipped mess that was posing as nail polish, etc. I put on some music and went to work. B got home soon after and asked me what I was cooking. I was boiling eggs for my lunch, so I had a pot of water on the stove. It was a pretty momentous occasion. A pot? On our stove? What a novel concept.
I asked what he wanted to do for dinner and he mentioned a pizza we had picked up at the supermarket. I preheated the oven and went back to my nails. Then my eggs were done and I had to switch them to cold water.
By that time, the oven was ready, so I stuck the pizza in. I warmed up some frozen green beans to make the meal; this wasn’t just a pizza, this was dinner. Then I had to fill B in on my latest rant (I had to wait FIVE minutes for a train during rush hour; unacceptable!) and how everyone who works at our library is either incompetent or ill-mannered.
Then, whaddya know, the pizza was ready. In fact, it was a little crispy. I guess I left it in too long when I was complaining about the train (seriously, MBTA, get your shit together).
The take-away here? I barely had time to listen to my bullying stomach when my mind was occupied elsewhere. Maybe I should have a list of chores every night. Imagine how clean our house would be! And how productive I would feel!
On second thought, I’d rather camp on the couch with a block of cheese. The terrible reality trash I watch is enough to make you feel good about yourself no matter how disheveled your life is.
Comments
How about coconut oil in lieu of butter?
Your blog is literally my favourite one to read! You're hilarious!
Thanks for the kind words = ) I love your blog, too!