Work-Related Rage and A Bag of Assorted Cookies Equals Certain Disaster

Today was a bad day. On an unrelated note, I was given a bag of cookies. I brought them home and in my rage I think I have eaten them all - I say "I think" because I truly don't know; I keep shoving the empty ziplocs back into the brown paper bag so there might be a few still hidden under that garbage.

Rage and sugar seem to be a pattern with me, which is not entirely my fault; the conditions of my working environment make this all too easy. Work is where I get most pissed, also where I receive most offerings of the "refined" nature. I can with incredible accuracy predict the entire sequence of events: something happens, I get pissed, I see cookie, I eat FIVE HUNDRED COOKIES, my rage reaches energy levels not otherwise humanly possible except during ultimate sugar quota and then I cry because now I'm fat and angry and generally lacking in self-respect.

But what am I supposed  to do? Not eat the cookies? So what, just have a salad? Eat an apple? When your dander is up so high that you can faintly hear that ringing in your ears, do you really get the hankerin' for a well balanced diet? Hell no - you want sugar! You want to feel the stuff coursing through your veins, setting your sensors to "everything will be okay because there's chocolate in my mouth" mode, if only for a few seconds so you can forget just how shitty your entire day has been up to that point and will probably be as soon as you toss the wrapper.

So now I'm fat and angry and unmotivated to do anything about it because I'm tired. Exhausted, really. What's worse is I feel justified; as if having a shitty day qualifies me for some kind of binge sugar eating that would otherwise be viewed as gluttony. Except now I deserve it, you know, because my day. And what a day it was. I can't even begin to explain because then I'll just get angry again and eat more and at this point I really think I may perforate a portion of my bowel if I eat one additional thing.

And I'm not going to yoga tomorrow morning; no, you can absolutely shove it where the sun don't - you know what, up your ass is what I'm saying. I'm going to eat these damned cookies, I'm going to sit here and let the sugar create unimaginable gas pressure in my colon and then I'm going to fall asleep and wake up feeling dehydrated, bloated and shamed. But I'm going to wake up when I good and feel like it and not a moment before. So there. Take that.

Bleck.