Hunger

Today I felt a hunger that was not unlike starvation or a hypoglycemic fit, which left me shaking and uneasy--even a little panicked. This is not the first of these episodes I have experienced, and I cannot say why I have never had myself examined by a doctor or at least asked for advice. Being the sensible person I am, I can only reconcile the absurdity of feeling ravenous a mere four hours after breakfast, with a psychological explanation. The idea that I am actually starving being too far-fetched to me. Even hypoglycemia seems to complex an explanation to survive Ockham's discriminant blade.

Regardless, it is at times like these that I find the thought of picky eaters most repulsive. I have no use for those who will altogether reject a particular food because of one single ingredient. I hate raisins. There flavor is completely offensive to my pallet. But if someone offers me oatmeal raisin cookies I will accept with both hands held out, as thankfully as if it were my final communion. I love food. If someone wants to offer me additional options to increase the amount of food I may have for no extra charge I am not going to refuse. I will never conclude a restaurant order with the phrase, "...hold the _____." If they'll add onions or cheese or even fucking sesame seeds for free, I will take them.

In a moment of perceived, irrational trepidation, when I feel that jittery pang wash over me, and my paces begins to clumsily overlap, my mind wanders to the last time I turned down food, not wanting to appear pathetic or greedy to my companions who have forgotten their starving college years. I think of how stupid and overly self conscious I was. If only I had seized the opportunity for a prepared feast, free of charge, I would not be suffering now. I would be satiated and content. Never mind the fact that this probably occurred weeks ago. The satisfaction of that late lunch or late-night snack would have passed, and I would still have this aching in my gut, this hollow-ness. I would still be pawing this very moment at the carb-shaped hole in my soul, longing for the sweat relief of a pita stuffed with lettuce and lamb or a boston cream donut. Oh regret.