On chilling out

and desperation.

I always know I am about to have a breakdown when the idea of feeding myself becomes overwhelming.

I am the kind of person who always has some variation of congee, several stews, handmade dumplings and bricks of stock stashed away in the freezer, so if I can’t bring myself to throw something in the microwave to defrost, it’s a bad sign. I guess it doesn’t help that my microwave is busted.

There was one night when the idea of slicing a piece of bread, shoving it in the toaster and popping a can of sardines made me want to cry.

What’s worse than the idea of having to wet some Chux, lay down a chopping board, add force to a bread knife and grab a plate is having to clean it. I legit thought to myself, I would rather starve. The only reason why I ate is that my one non-negotiable is going to the gym in the morning and I didn’t want to turn up and not be able to lift anything.

Something, something, mental health.

Well, I haven’t starved to death and I have enough mental fortitude to write this newsletter shaming myself, so, what got me through?