i didn't like you until you didn't like me

Please, allow me to introduce myself...

I eat until I’m inundated. Literally. Well, almost. Usually until that little valve in my esophagus closes because my stomach, being that thick walled elastic bag that I cherish it to be, is stretched to its absolute limit- so much so, in fact, that it decides when enough is enough, as if looking down in sorrow upon my bulging belly is not. My stomach refuses those last extra bites of unnecessary caloric intake. Scientifically speaking, that would be considered an involuntary reaction. But to the contrary, I believe it to be very voluntary. It’s part of my self-inflicted exo/endo battle- my hand gleefully forcing more and my stomach reluctantly spewing gastric acids and digestive enzymes until the epiglottis threatens mutiny against my windpipe. And what happens with all that excess food? It sits there, in my long, fragile, mucus-lined throat, waiting for my stomach to hurry and digest, to churn and swish and grumble and open the valve just long enough for another small load of nourishment to plop passed. And then what? Well, normally if I do not disgorge a bit of that oh-so-yummy slop back into my mouth only to be swallowed again, I may take yet another bite of whatever I was inhaling. Then again, I might take another bite just to mask the taste of my regurgitation in the case of the former. Why? you wonder. I lack all self-control.

Oh, and I also smoke when I can barely breathe, consume enough alcohol to make my medulla oblongata quiver with fear, snooze every day all day away, squander money on material possessions until my desperate digging fingers punch holes in my pockets, and date more men than a pirate hunts booty. I wouldn’t call that indulgent, though. Not even gluttonous or extravagant or unconscionable. Definitely not. I would call that sensible and wise. And maybe even grounded. I would call that me.

Hello there.…The pleasure is all mine.