My eating habits are all over the place, which is probably not the best thing at a time like this. On Thursday night I caught up with an old friend from Bristol, Dan Brilliant. I met up with him at a restaurant on St. Martins Lane. All day up to that point I had eaten half a pain au chocolat and a glass of orange juice. I ate a lot that evening, because he distracted me from the continual soundtrack of “You’re a loser” and “No one could love you” playing relentlessly in my head. On Friday, I had eaten exactly nothing by six in the evening. I then had a sandwich and some milk. My mother offered to make me some food when I got back to Norwich, but I just didn’t want anything. So that’s all I ate all day.
There’s something very biologically unlikely about the process of not wanting to eat when you’re lovelorn (I can’t honestly think of another word that doesn’t make me sound ridiculous or pathetic). It just doesn’t sound like the kind of thing you’d do if you were designing a reproductive system. Perhaps it’s, “So you didn’t succeed in your relationship? You’re too fat! Lose half a stone and try again.” [I’m not saying that I couldn’t afford to lose half a stone, but still…] If anyone has any links referring to or explaining the post-(ex/proto)relationship-food-aversion, then please contact me.