No, I didn't really want that job anyway.
No, I wasn't really into him anyway.
No, I didn't want to be involved in your wedding anyway.
No, I didn't really want to be invited to the party/vacation/happy-hour anyway.
No, I'm good to drive.
No, I'll meet you there.
Yes, I'll be fine, alone.
And in the single, solitary, deathly quiet moments drowned out by blasting music, frenetic speed, and swirling smoke, food is my companion.
Because there is no one else as reliable, available, and non-judgmental. The food doesn't have to care; it just has to be there. It might be the only thing I trust to show up for me.
And the connection is so addictive. I've never been able to break it. And I'm so worn out from trying, so hard, to keep failing.
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