FUNCTIONING ADDICT

WARNING!

Bare with me while I work out some shit.

It's official. Today's events have solidified my supressed notion and it has now surfaced and I have no clear intentions of reversing it. Let me explain...

About 70% of my job consists of attending meetings. When I tell people this, the usual response is, "You're so lucky. All you have to do is sit in a room all day and talk." What they have no clue about are the various dynamics that comprises certain meetings. Thus far, the worse meeting for me is a negotiation meeting with a major funder for our agency.

I called the meeting to begin talks of utilizing our data system for their standardized roll out to other syringe exchange programs, because the one in current use produces inaccurate figures. Now this is fancy talk for the database they're using is antiquated and useless and isn't fit for agencies that do needle exchange programs. I came equipped with my IT guy, Data Entry Specialist and letters from other syringe exchange programs, stating that they would like to use our database instead of theirs and all they needed was the funders approval.

The meeting was horrible. The Program Manager who serves as the mediator between my agency and the funders, joined forces with the funders and they wouldn't budge. They wouldn't even look at our database! It took them 2.5 hours worth of trunked up, bull-shit to tell me that they are aware of their fucked up data tracking system and we would just have to deal with it.

I quietly accepted the defeat and let them gloat in their victory. What they have no clue about is that I'll be having tea with their boss this weekend, who will get an ear full from me, which will then cause her to reek holy hell on them in the near future. But I digress......

After my defeated meeting, I got in my car and headed for home. I started feeling anxious. Pissed off. Beaten up. My public mask was stretched to capacity holding in every, Fuck you. Bite me. Every eye roll. Every kiss of the teeth. It was about to burst. I don't smoke cigarettes and I don't drink alcohol. I'm driving home, frustrated, heart racing. I'm in need of a fix. Something that will calm my jumpy nerves. Something that will give me satisfaction. A pacifier that will decrease my heart rate. I NEED A FIX!

Before I could blink, I'm at the drive through at MacDonalds. "I'll have a fish sandwich with fries and a diet pepsi...And two apple pies, please." A cloak of guilt covers me.

When the woman hands me my food, I catch a glimpse inside the crack house of the people at the cash register. They have the same guilty, anxious, eager look as me. This is what I do when I've had a stressed day. I eat junk food. I run to the nearest dealer which isn't hard being that there's a fast food place on every fucking corner. I have rice & peas and curry chicken sitting in my fridge and I head straight to a fast food joint. I honestly don't remember driving here!

I get home, throw off my clothes and leave them on the floor. I wash my hands. I rip open the bag and dig in. Each bite served as a hit. A hit of, "This is not good for you, but it feels DAYUM good, doesn't it, Chubby?" Oh, yes it does. I feel so good. I devour my fix, exhale and lean back in my couch. You know that feeling immediately after an orgasm? The feeling that all is right with the world and life is wonderful? That's how I felt.

I am curbing it with exercise four-five times week, so I can consider myself a functioning addict. I'm chubby, but I'm considered thick, not fat, so the effects (or is it affect?) aren't displayed on the exterior...Yet.

Hi, My name is Chubby Chocolate and I'm a junk food addict...