My, but we are a persnickety bunch

I'll be first to admit it: my family has issues. 

For a long time I thought it was me, I was the black sheep of the family, the problem child.  But no, oh good God no, I finally realized that every one of my characteristics and my troublesome nature are derived from somewhere in this branched and crooked family tree.

Number one would be my food issues.  I'm sure I've mentioned my relationship with food before.  As in, it's mine, all mine, not yours, there is no edible scrap of food anywhere on this planet that does not belong to me.  I don't care if you bought it, you cooked it, you cared for it and cleaned it, it's mine.  Even if I don't want it.  I may develop a taste for it someday and therefore, you cannot have any, because it may never be replaced, and then I will starve to death.

In like...50 years, because I'm pretty sure I've stored up enough fat that my body can subsist on its own for that long by devouring itself.

But hey guess what, I'm not the only one who has this til death do us part relationship with food.  So does my sister.

We discussed it ad nauseum this weekend at her house during my niece's birthday party:

That, btw, is the one and only picture I managed to get of this child because much like her Aunt, she doesn't like her picture taken because she's afraid it may steal her soul.  That, and she doesn't appear on film.  This was a miracle Hail Mary shot.

So, where as all of the food on the planet belongs to me, my sister's thing is that she's desperately afraid that the planet's food supply is going to run out and it's never going to be replaced so she will never be able to eat again and starve to death.  This is actually a realistic fear because being that the food is mine and I seem to be eating everything in sight, a world-wide famine is highly probable.

It's always amazed me that some people view food as merely the fuel by which we need in order to survive.  It doesn't matter if it tastes good, they have no particular favorites, they just eat what they need to and move on.  Even crazier are those people who forget to eat.  How can you "forget" to eat?  Like, didn't your stomach growling, or the fact that you're feeling weak or fainty clue you in to the fact that you may have missed a step.  Like, sleeping, peeing, pooping, blinking, or, breathing?  It makes no damn sense.

I've always had food issues.  I don't know if this was a turning point for me or just another phase in my food obsession, but I distinctly remember connecting food with my father.  We would have long, drawn out family meals that lasted for hours, long enough that you'd finished eating one meal and were hungry again for another one.  It was where I developed my love of food, connecting it with family, and good conversation, and togetherness.  That's also where I learned to eat slowly, so slowly that when I watch the Rottenator devour an entire chicken in 0.02 seconds, I am equally fascinated and horrified.  Our meals are nothing like that.  He's seriously done in, 10 minutes, tops, and I am struggling to keep up with him which usually ends up with me puking in a bathroom because I've eaten too much too fast and I'm totally stressed that my stomach is in a knot knowing that meal time is almost over and I may never get to eat again.

I finally understand my sister.

Going back to my father, I also remember when he got sick with cancer.  The extent of his illness was hidden from me for a long time, I was maybe 12, so I didn't understand how serious it was.  He was dying of cancer, but I remember my grandparents (my mom's parents) buying him Ensure because he was getting soooo skinny and losing so much weight he was getting gaunt and weak and they were trying anything to get him to keep his strength up.  And I remember thinking to myself, "if only he would eat, if only he gained weight, then he wouldn't be so sick and he'd get better".

Food saves all.  So maybe that's why I'm fat.  Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with my love of ice cream and cheese at all.  I'm just sayin'.

Another issue I have is OCD.  And it's getting worse the older I get.  This I get from my maternal grandmother.  Yes, the older I get, I am not, in fact, turning into my mother.  I'm turning into my grandmother, thereby completely bypassing middle age and hurdling straight down the tunnel of death towards the light with breakneck speed.

I remember my grandmother driving me bat fucking shit crazy when she got older because when she got something on her mind, it had to be taken care of now, not later, now.  Like, stop what you're doing right this very second and handle this thing now.  I don't care if you're in mid-stream, or driving, or solving the budget crisis, if you don't change this light bulb right now, the world is going to end, Rottenator.  I mean, Buster (my grandfather).

Because I'm nothing like that at all.  And neither is my mother who recently called me while I was getting ready for work in a panic because she couldn't figure out her direct TV remote and Judge Judy was coming on...in six hours.

I'm just sayin'.  These issues run deep.  And the good news is, I don't have to beat myself up for my bad habits anymore.  It's hereditary.

And what exactly does this have to do with my trip to Orlando to Universal Studios in September to see Harry Potter?  Not a damn thing, so it's not worth mentioning.

That's pretty much how I'm going to see every conversation for the next 8 months: "And what exactly does this have to do with my trip to see The Wizarding World of Harry Potter?  Nothing? Then why are we still discussing it".

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day: