We’re all humans, right? I mean, unless an animal testing laboratory has been raided and dozens of cerebrally-enhanced genetic super-chimps have been freed from their cage, slipped out of the building masked by the confusion and tear-gas and then, having discussed amongst themselves what they should do with their new-found freedom, decided to hightail it to the nearest Internet Cafe and look up an obscure British writer’s blog, I think it’s a safe assumption to make.
So with that in mind, I think it’s fairly safe to say that sometimes, when we are faced with feelings of emptiness and dissatisfaction with the current state of our lives (Why haven’t I got any regular income? Why won’t the BBC return my calls? Is The Beatles Rock Band really $250?!) we turn to unusual places to plug up the gaping hole that has pushed itself into our lives. Some people fill that hole with television, or sex, or by writing abusive emails to publishing companies. Others, such as myself, tend to fill that void with food.
It’s a dangerous thing. I’ve spent much of the last few months couped up on my own in my house. Often I haven’t left my bedroom because I’ve been on my computer either writing, talking to friends, or playing Tales of Monkey Island. Occasionally I will leave my room, slouching and scratching my back like some sort of well-dressed caveman, and wander into the kitchen where I will, for no real reason whatsoever, get something to eat.
There’s no need for this. I’m not hungry. I’m not even peckish. And yet I have lost count of the number of times where I have been sitting at my computer, blinked, and then found myself standing in the kitchen looking into the fridge. Occasionally I have gone one step further and found myself sitting at my computer desk with a tub of Pringles and a jar of dip, an occurance which fills me with dread because we never buy Pringles.
Then there was a recent incident where I found myself eating Nutella out of the jar with a spoon. Such antics are forgivable of a young boy who just likes chocolate, but I’m a 23 year-old man. I’m supposed to be a professional. So why the Hell am I shovelling chocolate and hazelnut spread out of the jar and directly into my mouth?
It’s possible I am simply a Disgusting Human Being. Indeed, I don’t dismiss this option. There is at least one item in my DVD collection that would probably validate this theory (and, y’know, who amongst us hasn’t gone to Amazon UK and seen series one of Not Going Out for the limited-time-only price of £3 and subsequently purchased it in a moment of heady recklessness?).
I used to go for a daily walk. I stopped doing that because It’s Fucking Hot, and I am tall and red-haired and British and therefore not built for the surface-of-the-sun levels of heat LA seems to endure for 347 days of the year.
So my plan from tomorrow is this: Eat healthily. Yes, that’s ridiculous. Yes, my primary source of food for tomorrow will be a local AM-PM and the only food they serve there has been treated with more chemicals than a Marvel superhero. But dammit, I’m going to eat healthily or not at all. One way or another I’m going to get Results. I’m not huge, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Meanwhile, I have to find something else to fill that hole with. What were the other things I mentioned earlier…?