At Least It's Over

As a teenager, I used to skip meals in my effort to be thin. I never ate breakfast. I drank my lunch (Mountain Dew). I skimped on dinner.

I started eating in college when I realized I needed higher brain function to stay an A student. I also needed more sleep, something sadly lacking (still lacking). I paid for lunch and dinner at the dorm dining hall, so I started grabbing to-go lunches and dinners (sandwiches, if that's what they were serving).

Fast-forward twenty years (plus, for you sticklers). I can't fast for shit. Well. I can control my urges like a champ, but I am the grumpiest bitch you have ever met on a bad day when I don't eat. I'm critical of everything. I hate the world, all its people, and the shitty technology working against me.

I didn't realize how long it would take me to snap back from fasting 24+ hours. I've had three meals since then and I'm still not quite right with the world. Lemur is home from work today and got an earful about how my job no longer sparks joy. Each thing I finish isn't an accomplishment, it's something I can finish so I can move on to something else. I feel no achievement when it's done. If someone asks me how it went, "At least it's over."

Them: "How was your speech?"

Me: "At least it's over."

Them: "How did everything turn out on that project?"

Me: "Well, it's over, so that's good."

Them: "How did the meeting go?"

Me: "It's over, so okay?"

Each one of these statements from me is accompanied by a Daria-like shrug (it was a show on MTV - look it up, kids).

Nothing I do sparks joy in the moment. I'm only happy when it's over. It took being hungry to realize it, but it's not only when I'm hungry - it's work, all the time. This job has become a laundry list of dreads I cross off my list each day.

At least today is over.

I have a long way to go before I can retire.