Work is conspiring to make me into a hollow imitation of a well-rounded adult. I have to train someone starting tomorrow and I am not so very hot at delegating.
To say that I fulfill the control freak stereotype of the eating disordered person would be inaccurate. ... But I don't really want to teach you how to do that because I can just do it myself and that way I'll know if it's done right and if it's not I'll know what's wrong with it, how 'bout you just watch YouTube all day or something, no, this is not too much work for me to handle on my own, I don't know what you're talking about.
Because that always ends well for everyone. We're certainly not going to talk about how it ends for the food or lack thereof or glut thereof or stressing over thereof or what-have-you-ing thereof. (Why ever would we talk about that on an eating disorder blog? Psh.) We're mostly not talking about it because my higher brain functions have all been subsumed by work, and, re: the food thing, are only capable of producing this kind of analysis: ".... Uhhhhhh...."
While work is eating my brain, please have a symbolic-type picture, courtesy of Cheezburger:
Get it? Because if I can conquer eating pancakes (e.g.) appropriately and happily, I can conquer the world? Get it? Get it?
Oh, never mind. I'll just go back to work now.