I am fully aware

I am on a medication that makes me hungry. I am on the medication for the next five to ten years, so I am trying to figure out how to build some road blocks in front of the food supply. My grandmother thought she was always hungry, when dementia started to creep in. She would have full on dinner, get up, shuffle back to Bonanza and about two minutes after she sat down she would say, “HEY! What’s for DINNER?” And you would walk over and tell her she already had dinner, and she would say, “I don’t remember that.” Then she’d say, “What’d you give me?” You would tell her, and she’d say, “Nah, I don’t remember that. I didn’t have any of that. I think you ate and forgot to call me. What’d you have left? You got any cake?”

My hunger has no logic. I am fully aware that I ate, but it has no impact; I have no sensation of filling up. I try to make it obvious to myself that I have eaten my weight by 11:30 in the morning. I make a huge breakfast, and as soon as I finish cleaning up, I start making lunch. Then I drink tea with cream. Cream is supposed to weigh you down. It does nothing. Something else kicks in, which is panic that I won’t be able to afford myself. I (internally) have a go at the hunger, like my mother. “Who do you think is going to pay for all that? You are on Thursday and we haven’t left Monday yet. I just put all of that food away, and you have eaten it. Can’t you let me enjoy a moment of having done something?”

I have nothing to say to that. Plus, I hate doing dishes. I am so tired of doing dishes. It’s the only thing that slows the train down by dinner.

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