A day in the life of a foodaholic

She is just so hungry this morning. 
She wonders why that is. 
She doesn’t find an answer, but 
She can’t go to work without eating something. 
She knows that much for sure.  
Cereal will do, but a sensible amount. 
There is the diet to think of. 
She pours the recommended serving. 
It doesn’t look very sensible at all. 
How is anyone supposed to function on that? 
She throws in a little extra, and a little more, 
Adds milk, and sugar – so bland without sugar. 
And that completes fix number one. 

Two hours later and work is in full swing. 
Her tummy starts up with its grumblings. 
Yes, she ate only two hours ago 
But now it’s rumbling she can’t ignore it. 
And it feels like real hunger – it really does, 
Even though it was set off 
By the smell of someone’s toast. 
Oh, that looks lovely, she says to Jenny,  
Who walks in with a cuppa in one hand, 
A late breakfast in the other. 
I think I’ll have some too. 
I didn’t get the chance to eat this morning, 
And with that lie comes fix number two. 

A short while later, 
The day hits lunch o’clock. 
She isn’t hungry, 
But lunchtime it is, 
So lunch she must. 
A light one though. 
Doesn’t need too much, 
What with double breakfast. 
She goes to the bakery, 
Returns with a sandwich, 
And a bag of crisps – for later. 
Within minutes, neither crumb of bread 
Nor crisp remains and fix number three 
Sits heavy in her stomach. 

Two-thirty, and a managerial email 
Has her feeling edgy. 
A voice in her head says chocolate. 
Another voice in her head says no. 
She shushes the latter, 
Reaches into her bag 
And pulls out a bar. 
There is always a bar. 
She looks around, 
Assesses who’s seen her eat what. 
She doesn’t want colleagues thinking her greedy. 
The room is light on witnesses. 
Thank god for pointless meetings. 
She savours the first bite, 
Letting it melt on her tongue, 
Feeling the peace enter her veins. 
Then she devours the rest, 
Barely registering it 
Over the thrill of fix number four. 

Late afternoon rolls around 
And someone mentions cake. 
The chocolate buzz has worn off, 
So that sounds really good right now. 
She volunteers to fetch it. 
Talk of cake has her expectant 
And she wants to make sure 
It doesn’t remain just talk. 
She takes orders and money and 
Returns to the bakery. 
Back at the office fix number five 
Rounds off the working day, 
And is joined not long after 
by fix number six – 
A secret bakery purchase, 
Which she eats at the back of the bus 
Where no one else can see. 

Home and time for dinner. 
Well, time to begin cooking it. 
There is still a while before they eat. 
Can she wait that long? 
Yes, you can, her mind says, 
After all you’ve had today. 
But, her mind also says, 
After all you’ve had today,
You might as well go all out. 
You can be good tomorrow instead. 
One cup of tea and 
A stack of biscuits later 
Fix number seven is done. 

Dinner comes and she has too much 
But that is nothing new. 
As she stuffs her body 
With fix number eight, 
Quashing some unwelcome feeling, 
Her spirit floats to the freezer and 
Inventories the ice-cream drawer. 
If she has some, husband will question her. 
But if she doesn’t, she will go nuts. 
Question away, mate. I don’t care. 
She cleans the kitchen, serves the ice cream. 
He asks her what happened to the diet.  
I have calories to spare today. 
The lies come so smoothly but 
She won’t be able to peddle them for long. 
He will soon wonder why she isn’t losing weight, 
Then see that she is actually gaining it. 
But it will be different tomorrow, 
She promises herself. 
She will get this under control. 
That’s a matter for tomorrow, though. 
In the meantime, 
Fix number nine awaits.