The Starving Artist: Chapter 28: Seeking New Stress Mechanism

At Glory Hole Doughnuts enjoying Lemon Meringue
At Glory Hole Doughnuts enjoying Lemon Meringue

At my house, we’re stress eaters. At all my houses, really. We eat when we’re happy. We eat more when we’re sad. Late night snacking; a constant problem. Cereal for 2nd dinner. If it’s in the house it’s going into my mouth. This week’s stress of losing someone special has driven me to empty the fridge, the cupboards and pester the local takeout joints. A stress-eating is a zero benefit side-effect causing my total health train derailment. In the last week I have been avoiding mirrors. Wearing joggers and moping about with a plate or napkinful or tinfoil swan in hand at all times. It was mid-sugar coma that it hit me. Stress is the energy so many folks run on; maybe I could alter my pre-disposition to gorge the pain. We have the technology, we can rebuild me.

Now, if this scheme was to work, I was going to have to plan. What could benefit from the energy that my stress could generate? Well, let’s see, there’s the not so new-oh so untidy house, the cabin fever-ridden dog, the high-flying-skycloud shooting husband, the neglected book, the blog, the ever shedding cat, the storage unit…let’s just say there’s no lack of things that could use a little energy boost. But let’s also agree that a stress case is not the ideal candidate for most jobs. Temporarily sane me finally decided: The best fit for a basket-case is mindless, repetition, keeping my idle hands busy. Logically and with renewed scientific fervour, I picked up a cloth and cleanser. Laundering all the cross-over season clothes. Scouring the entire bathroom, including baseboards and cupboard shelves. Stripping the bed, dusting the ceiling fixtures. High and low, no bunny was safe at our house this Easter weekend. Eventually, though it had to end, and with 940 sq ft, it didn’t take too long. Then, Stress and I found ourselves face to face again. The Pirate cookies “yar-haring” my name from the junk cupboard.

With a clean house I turned to the sofa where the Hubby and the hound were tangled up in blankets.

Me: “Okay, the sun is shining. The world is calling…” As I flung open the blackout curtains.

Hubby: “But look at her, she’s found a sunspot.” Pointing to the dog splayed out with sunshine lighting up her underbelly.

Me: “I bet we can find a bigger sunspot out there. Spring has sprung.”

So, my Hubby left the cloud city he was defending and took his ladies for a walk about. We walked to the park, to play monkey in the middle, cuz Jilly only wants the ball when she can’t have it. This is my first real exercise since Blister-gate March 2013. Stretching and throwing and chasing that little Stinker, all over that muddy school yard. I finally started feeling less stressed. Like the sunshine had squeegeed the darkness, feeling better and brighter. Smiling…actually smiling. I could almost hear the song my happy heart sings. Then I went home and finished a bag of mini Reece’s peanut butter cups. Well, the good news is I didn’t do it because I was stressed…right?!? That’s still progress right?

The Starving Artist: Chapter 28: Seeking New Stress Mechanism

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