On pretty much any given day, you could comment on my (incredibly large) figure and it wouldn't bother me so much. Food makes me happy. Tell me I gained a billion pounds and I wouldn't lose my appetite. I wouldn't throw away the Venti Frappe or the can of Coke I was drinking either.
Unfortunately, today was not one of those days. I sit here at the end of the day and think back at what I've eaten since I woke up. This sounds really stupid, but I simultaneously want to cry, run a marathon, shake myself, do pushups and weights, slap myself and scream, "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, KRIS?!?! DID YOU REALLY HAVE TO EAT ALL THAT!? WERE YOU EVEN HUNGRY!?!?!?"
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