Last night I experienced what is scientifically known as Postprandial somnolence, and more commonly referred to as a food coma. I call it the ‘itis. I’ll let you figure out what that is short for. Anyway, it works like this: I eat a large amount of food–specifically fast food–and I pass out. That is it. That is the entire process. Habit burger went in, sleep came out. Not the happy sleep of the unencumbered, but the heavy fretful sleep of a creature who had a whole bunch of stuff to do, but foolishly decided to stop at habit burger at 6pm only to wake up in an aching heap around 2:50 AM. Yeah, that happened. Not only did it happen, but it continues to plague me as my eating habits have gone completely to hell.
As we’ve come to expect, there is no moral to this story. There is just me and my distended belly waking up broken on a couch night after night in a meat haze. This is what drug abuse looks like. And being a single guy. And irresponsibility. And depression. However, none of those things are really me. I’m just unskilled and unequipped of cookery. And Lazy. I’m clearly lazy.
This is the consequence of foolish action and, yes, it is that bad. Waking up on the couch meant I had not prepped for class, or graded, or written anything worthwhile, or played Mass Effect: Andromeda. The last one is especially gut wrenching. I need to solve the fast food issue.
Some Thoughts:
- A week slightly removed from football means a week where I can pause and take a breath and not race through, hungry for the weekend.