As I understand it, if you suddenly develop a craving for something—red, bloody meat; or spinach salad; or fish sticks; or the violent and painful death of your upstairs neighbors—it is a marker of a great lack in your body that needs to be addressed. Like iron, or mercury, or the ability to sleep past 7:30 in the morning…for god’s sake, people, please stop dragging your chairs around directly over my bed.
I’ve spent the day craving everything in the world, from blissful, interrupted sleep to boots to chocolate covered pretzels to world peace. Of course, I always crave world peace, because that is the kind of very good heart I have and how earnest I always am. But it’s been this very weird and steady thump thump thump of needs that must be sated and will not let me go. I ignore it for hours and it niggles in the back of my mind until I finally give up and am surfing the internet, hunting desperately for my fix, which would probably be cheaper if I ordered it from Canada (that was a prescription drug joke. Whee!).
It started this morning on my way to work. I wanted…leggings. Three
years behind the curve, as ever, but better late than never looking
like a douchebag, right? Right! And, a little early for work, I decided
to stop at the Gap, because surely the Gap has leggings! They are so
forward-thinking and their name implies, to the hole in my heart, that
it will be filled. They know I have a gap; that is what they are there
to bridge! Thank you, the Gap! Fuck you, the Gap, and your lack of
leggings. Also, Ann Taylor, H&M, Talbot’s and Loehmann’s can all
bite me, and Walgreen’s—a last-ditch resort—I hate you.
By the time I stomped out of Walgreen’s, I was irritated, and
frustrated, late to work and filled with rage because…I couldn’t find
leggings? I slowed a little bit, in my stomping up the hill, and
realized that what I was really experiencing was a lack of vitamin
sanity in my diet, and clearly looking to replace something missing in
my life with material goods. Well, I wouldn’t fall into that trap
again! I would replace unhealthy behaviors with healthy ones, and enjoy
The banana was sweet and delicious. It was not right, though. What was
wrong with the banana? I could not understand what it was about the
banana that made my life difficult, that made me tap my foot as I sat
in my chair, and distracted me from my proofreading because my mind
kept wandering, poking at the dissatisfaction-shaped cloud forming back
in my reptile brain. What was wrong? What did I want? I want something,
yes. Something…to eat. But what? What can I put in my face that will
fulfill my needs and satisfy my cravings and make me happy again?
Because clearly food is what will make me happy.
“Chocolate covered pretzels are proof that there is a God,” my friend
J. said in an IM, and I bolted upright, shouted “YES!” and flung myself
into the streets to go chase down the elusive chocolate covered pretzel,
which is endangered and protected, because they do not exist, and I
don’t want to talk about it right now because I’m still kind of mad.
Stupid chocolate covered pretzels. I didn’t need them, anyway. They’re
bad for me. And cause tooth decay. And will make my heart go pop.
But they will also warm my heart, I argued with myself inside my head.
And I need to be warm, because I am always cold. You know what I really
need? Boots. That’s what I need. Because I’m moving to the frozen
tundra! I cannot die in the frozen tundra! I have so much to live for!
Only boots, really warm and sassy boots, with style and also warm,
insulated lining, will protect me from all the evil that will befall me
both in the future and right now this exact second in time if I am not
presented with the perfect boots immediately right now five minutes ago
hello? I find them, and I put them in the cart, and I argue with myself
for 20 minutes about hitting the checkout button. I do not hit the
checkout button, because trying to soothe emotional needs with physical
things is unhealthy behavior. And also we get really busy at work and I
forget all about them. For now.
Some kind of money is going to have to rain down from the sky (checks,
or cash, or beanie babies to sell on eBay, or diamonds or very
hard-working hookers to pimp out), because I don’t see my stress
receding any time soon, and my attempts toward other coping behaviors
generally end in tears. But there’s a part of me that thinks that maybe
it isn’t such a bad thing, to want something, to consider it, to buy it
for myself. Does it have to follow that I am sublimating insert
psychological issue here? Probably. But I can maybe also have leggings.
We’ll see what I can do with this whole exciting “moderation” concept
I’ve heard so much about.