First, I've noticed for several years that I can do well in not overeating all day long, but almost as soon as my husband walks through the door, I am at the fridge, in the cupboards, or rifling through the deep freeze for something to eat. I've had my suspicions as to why they were related, but today I think I really figured it out.
Here is what went down at my house this afternoon. I was in here studying for my AEPA exam. Well, I've been taking practice tests for months, and the social studies section is kicking my ass, to put it as mildly as possible while still emphasizing the seriousness of the situation. I have no clue why World War II is considered a bad war. Aren't all wars bad? Okay, so I am worried, deeply worried, because I know with the state of Arizona's budget that come July when new teachers are being hired and placed, they are only going to consider the very best of the best. People who don't pass the AEPA the first time just won't be considered. I'm worried that this section will keep me from passing. So I've been studying hard. Plus today is the first day of the new semester, and I have three assignments due by Friday.
So I'm studying and he walks in and I say casually but with seriousness, "I'm not even going to pass the test!" He walks by like I hadn't said a thing. I feel a wiggle in my stomach. A few minutes later, I say something about there being no jobs anyway, and he walks into the bathroom, changes his shirt, and walks out into the living room. Now the wiggle is crawling up my back. Keep in mind that while he's been playing golf or basketball or whatever it is that he does all day, I have yet to speak an entire sentence to another human being. It has been at least 8 hours since I talked to an adult, even to say hello. My dad called this morning, or it would have been more like 20 hours. So, like I've been reduced to a freakin dog, I follow him in the living room, where he picks up Houstan and gives him a hug and punches Louis in the arm and says something like "how was your day, Koda baby?" I'm looking left and right to make sure I am actually still in the room. So I say to him, "they say they are going to close the lake to try to make up some of the budget." "Hmph," he says as he reaches around the corner and grabs a hat. "I think I'm going to go over and see if Jeff needs any help getting the shingles onto his roof. How long til dinner?" "20 minutes until the rice is done," and I am left with those wiggles now in my jaw, clenching and unchlenching it, grinding my teeth, and a curious anger and frustration building in my neck and shoulders. I roll my head (and my eyes) to try to relieve the stress and go back to sauteeing chicken. No more words. Then, it is after dark when he comes back in, after Dakota and I have already eaten, and he eats and puts stuff away. Then he comes in while I am taking yet another practice test, THAT IS TIMED, and starts talking about stuff to do with work that I know he talked to his mom about 6 hours ago when it was fresh in his mind, and expects me to listen attentively and offer up words of encouragement or awe, or whatever.
This is not uncommon. In fact, it doesn't vary at all. He gets to go away from this house all day, for 10 hours, and although my life at home isn't terribly exciting, things do go on here that I might want to talk about. I am a very talkative person to begin with, so when my entire day's worth of words can be written on two lines of regular notebook paper, that is a cause for serious frustration on my part. On top of that, I realize that not only do I feel like what I do here is worthless, he does too. Why else would he not want to hear anything about it?
So where do I go to have these emotional need met? Food. Food never lets me down. It makes me feel bloated and tired, but at least when I am tired and sleeping, I can dream of brilliant, beautiful men who listen to me and care about what I have to say, and who want to hold my hand and rub my hair and lean my head against their chest and say, "Don't worry. You are wonderful, everyone wants you to work for them," or "You are the most beautiful, intelligent woman I know, and I know you will make things happen for us." And we talk for hours, and they whisper sweet things to me, and tell me that I am too thin because in my dreams, my dream husband cares about what I have to say so I don't turn to food for comfort. But then I wake up and realize it was all a dream and that makes me depressed and I go grab some hot cocoa with hazelnut creamer and some whole grain toast with Jif crunchy peanut butter. A midnight snack that consists of nothing but sugar, carbs, and fat, and about 600 calories. But I eat it and I enjoy it, and all the while I am screaming at myself very loudly in my mind that I do not want it, I should not eat it, and that I know I am going to hate myself for eating it.
And I do. And that depresses me, and so I lay in bed as long as I can the next morning, telling myself I will do better today, and I eat only egg whites and hash browns with no oil or butter for breakfast and a salad for lunch, with fat-free Caesar Italian dressing, and I do so awesome--Until 4:40, and Garry walks in the door. And those familiar wiggles start crawling through my stomach, up my spine, and my teeth clench, and my neck hurts, and all I want to do is go for a long run, but it is cold, and there are brownies left over from last night. Louis made them, and they have nuts and marshmallows on top, and I even bought milk today to go with them...
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