More Than (Thousands of) Words

I wrote all the words in the world these past two weeks -- sorry if anyone else needed any.

Hence my absence from the blogosphere.

But if I had any words left – and I’m still not sure I do – I would tell you that:

1. I lost a pound the week of the binge after dinner with friends, which made me feel like I’d gotten away with something.
2. I binged again on Saturday the 15th (more of which, shortly). I stayed the same that week.
3. This week, so far, has been a struggle. And there is Christmas Eve dinner (not so worried about that one) and now an unexpected Christmas Day invitation (much greater cause for concern). And beyond that I’m headed to France and then, briefly, London in mid-January. I haven’t been to London without bingeing (and the last time, there was no other way to describe it but of the violent kind) since I lived there.

The Saturday binge I could feel coming. I was beyond stressed out with work, very anxious about the publication of a critical story I feared could result in a very public shaming or a lawsuit (or both), and had two afternoon-to-early-evening Christmas parties to attend (one up at 140th street, the other in Brooklyn, which for Londoners is probably the equivalent of one in, say, Pontoon Docks and the other in, I don’t know, Chiswick. Maybe even Heathrow.) I knew very well that if I binged it would be very difficult to work on Sunday, which I knew I’d have to do – I had a huge and very complicated story due on the Monday.

I felt trapped.

The major strategic error of the day was to try to do it all: To run from a meeting to trying a new workout to World’s Fastest Lunch to the Upper East Side to get my hair blown out (Did I really need that? In retrospect, no) to grab some wine and then up to the first party on the Upper West Side. En route I dropped and smashed my iPhone, which is worse than it sounds because I recorded interview with subject of critical story on it – and had not downloaded it to my computer. (Unbelievably for me, I managed not to lose it when this happened. I freaked out for about twenty-five seconds, before realizing there was zero I could do about it at that moment. This, for me, is nothing short of unbelievable.)

The whole day I could feel the binge, like a spot on my face that hurts for hours before a nasty zit appears. I had my lunch and immediately thought: I want more. I need more.

When I arrived at the hair salon, on whose Hershey’s kisses I once started a binge, they had a box of proper good fancy chocolates with scrummy-sounding fillings. The whole time I was there, I wrestled with the idea of having one. I decided it would be a bad idea; that I should eat my usual afternoon snack (a half a peanut butter sandwich), because I didn’t want to arrive at a party hungry and on a sugar high.

And then I got to the party. Within approximately four minutes I had crammed a Christmas cookie in my mouth. And I was off to the races. Macaroni and cheese, sliced ham (bizarrely sweet), cheese, peanut m&ms, red velvet whoopie pies, Tostitos, more Christmas cookies… And white wine. Lots of white wine.

I wanted to cancel the nutritionist appointment (and in fact, told her that if I do cancel she should ask me if I really need to). Honestly, it is so hard for me to walk in there after a binge. I want to go away and not reappear until I get it right.

But that is not how progress is made.

And I think I am making some.

After the party binge I ended up going to a bar with an old colleague (the Christmas party was given by an editor from my former employer, although she invites very few work people to it – mostly family and neighbors). We had sweet potato fries and some revolting drink that bartender mixed up and my (gorgeous blonde) colleague promptly met a guy. I talked to a guy who was (a) Swedish, (b) 23, (c) apparently also into my blonde colleague and seemed disappointed she was busily kissing a fortysomething guy with a pimp (read: big diamond) ring. He was also, I learned, staying at a youth hostel. With his mother.

I left the bar and debated eating more, which is what I usually would do in that situation. I walked into a shop that had an awful lot of binge foods: muffins, cakes, the works. I bought a banana and walked out. I had a small frozen yogurt and checked to see whether I could make it to Magnolia Bakery. I could.

Just go home and be done, I thought. If you don’t eat any more you have some vague chance of waking up not feeling like you want to die tomorrow.

It wasn’t that much of a struggle. I got home. I did not eat peanut butter or nuts or even a square of dark chocolate I have had sitting in my refrigerator for, like, two months. I went to bed.

Day 8.