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The Trouble With Wanting It All

Ever since I got over my fear and anxiety I’ve had a bottomless appetite to do it all. I want to travel everywhere. I want to see everything. And I want to participate in as many events as possible. Sometimes that gets me in trouble. Here’s an example.

Mood music: “Serve the Servants” by Nirvana: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aztw2s3PZzY

Columbus Day Weekend there are two events I badly want to be a part of. One is something my security friends put together called HacKid. It’s going to be an epic experience for the kids, and I’ve been planning to be there.

The idea is to provide an interactive, hands-on experience for kids and their parents which includes things like:

–Online safety (kids and parents!)

–Make a podcast/vodcast

–How to deal with CyberBullies

–Physical Security

–Gaming competitions

–Interactive robot building

–How the Internet works

–Food Hacking

–Basic to advanced network/application security

–Website design/introduction to blogging

–Manipulating hardware and software for fun

–Meeting & interacting with law enforcement

–Building a netbook

–Low-impact martial arts/self-defense training

Up until this weekend, it was a given that I’d be dragging Sean and Duncan there.

Then, yesterday, the phone rang.

It was someone involved with the Cursillo retreat weekends at St. Basil’s in Methuen, Mass. It’s a Catholic retreat, and it’s very intense.

He asked me to be on team for the men’s retreat happening THE SAME WEEKEND as HacKid.

On the surface, it’s a no-brainer, right? HacKid is going to be a blast, and I’ve already written a CSOonline.com column throwing my support behind it.

But it’s not that easy.

As readers of this blog know by now, finding my Faith was central to my learning to manage a mental disorder and all the addictions that came with it. Without God, I am nowhere. That may not sound cool to some people, but I don’t care.

There’s also the fact that last weekend I was on here grousing about how I was giving God the short end of the stick lately.

I want to do both, but I can only do one. For a control freak like me, that truly sucks.

But I know there’s really no choice for me here. I have to choose Cursillo. My own Cursillo more than two years ago made a huge, lasting impact and I need to give back.

When God comes calling, you don’t say no. That’s a real pain in the ass, but it’s what I believe.

So I’ll be on team for the men’s weekend, and I’ll give it my all. The timing is also good because right after that I’ll start helping out with Haverhill’s RCIA program. My spiritual side will be finely tuned by then. Not perfect. Definitely not without sin. But I’ll be in the groove.

Meantime, I’ll just have to do other things to help HacKid succeed, not that they need my help. When my friend Chris Hoff gets motivated to do something, it’s a foregone conclusion that he’s going to get it done.

But I CAN write about it and make sure as many people know about it as possible, so that’s what I’ll do.

It’s still going to suck missing the event.

But my security friends will understand.

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Anatomy of a Near-Binge

A few weeks ago I described a day in the life of a compulsive binge eater. Here’s the sequel. Even in recovery, the demon is constantly breathing down your neck. But you don’t have to let him win.

Mood music: “Starve” by the Henry Rollins Band:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLvsnkQtZLI&hl=en_US&fs=1]

4 a.m.: Wake up in a hotel room, grab some coffee and start typing away on the computer. Congratulate yourself for nearly two years of abstinence from binge eating and eight months of sobriety.

6:15 a.m.: Stop working — which is hard to do because you have OCD and don’t like to stop working — and call the sponsor. Tell her your plan of eating for the day and make sure to ask how she’s doing. That can be tricky, because when you’re an addict it’s all about you.

6:30 a.m.: Eat your abstinent breakfast

7:30 a.m.: Talk with the guy you sponsor. Control your temper as the call goes five minutes beyond its alloted time, thus knocking the day’s schedule off course.

7:45-8:15 a.m.: Take a quick shower, shave the head and get dressed. Get your ass down to the conference you traveled 14 hours to get to.

8:15-9 a.m.: Walk past the breakfast food they put out at these conferences, because to you it’s all poison. Have more coffee.

9 a.m.-noon: Take notes during various talks, then start your writing. Write as many stories as you can even though you only have to write one. get it posted and remember to send it out on LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter.

The day has been pretty good so far. You’re doing what you love, and you are keeping the abstinence and sobriety together.

2 p.m.: You realize you didn’t eat lunch. This is fucking bad if you’re a recovering food-binging addict. The danger that you’ll say “screw it” and sacrifice lunch altogether in favor of a giant dinner is high. Doing it that way will almost certainly break your abstinence.

2:05 p.m.: Find a salad, thus keeping the abstinence intact.

2:30 p.m.: Write another story from the conference and get over the fact that you’re not networking as much as you’d like because your OCD is making you produce.

3:45ish: Fatigue sets in. So does the urge to drink some wine. After all, you’re not at home and nobody’s going to know. And hell, your main addiction is binge eating and drinking wine isn’t binge eating.

4:30 p.m.: After wrestling with this one in your head for 45 minutes, you remember that you gave up alcohol because getting drunk leads to binge eating. But if you binge just this once, you could always keep it to yourself. Addicts are excellent liars.

You head to the place where snacks are sold. You stare in and suddenly turn and walk the other way. Sure, you can lie, but the guilt will eat you alive. And besides, you worked too hard to get clean.

5 p.m.: You remember that while OCD drives a lot of your writing, you also do it because you love it. So you go do some blogging and you feel better.

6:30 p.m.: After an abstinent dinner — another salad — you call the wife and kids and get caught up on their day.

6:50 p.m.: Go outside and have a cigar. That too is an addiction and you indulge more on the road than when you’re on the normal routine. But avoiding the food and alcohol must be the priorities for now, so you allow yourself the tobacco. In your heart, though, you know the cigars will have to go — sooner or later.

7-10 p.m.: You meet up with associates from your industry over drinks and food. You’ve eaten already and you don’t drink, so you order coffee and, later, club soda.

11 p.m.: You collapse into your hotel bed, thanking God for another clean day.

The demon is always seconds away from ripping your day out from under you.

But not today.

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The Pedophile, Part 2

A childhood-friend-turned-convicted-pedophile was kicked off Facebook a few days ago, much to my relief. But his case makes it uncomfortably clear just how dangerous social networking can be in the hands of an addict — including me.

Mood music: 

Before I go further, here’s the original blog post I wrote about this guy about a week ago. That’ll give you all the background you need for what follows.

After talking to him on the phone, I had a decision to make: Unfriend him on Facebook or stay connected to keep an eye on him? I chose the latter.

Sure enough, despite what he told me about cleaning up his act, he was “friending” scores of teenage girls from such far-flung places as Indonesia and Thailand. I was able to follow the conversation threads he was having with these girls:

“You’re pretty.”

“Can you IM (instant message) me?”

And so on.

My friend, Kevin Littlefield, started to quietly notify our Facebook friends. I alerted the authorities that they should keep an eye on him and reported the activity to Facebook. Since then, I’ve learned that several other friends were on to him and alerted Facebook as well. One of us got through, because by the start of this week, he was gone from Facebook.

It’s been sobering to watch this guy. I consider myself very lucky that my addiction was binge eating and, to a lesser extent, alcohol.

At least with those addictions, you have a fighting chance to redeem yourself and fit into society. For someone addicted to sex — especially pedophilia — you’re all done once you’ve been caught and convicted. You have to register as a sex offender and tell all your neighbors.

That’s as it should be.

It’s one thing to have an addiction in which you slowly destroy yourself. It’s quite another to prey on another human being and damage them for life because your addiction makes you do something to them instead of yourself.

He doesn’t belong in society. Pure and simple. We all have a chance to redeem ourselves to God, but justice means the punishment for some crimes has to be permanent for as long as you remain on this Earth.

That old friend of mine is getting exactly what he deserves.

That doesn’t mean I feel good about it all. As an addict, I know how powerful things like Facebook can be. I’m not on there trying to pick up women. But I do find myself on there for long periods of time, simply curious about how other people’s lives are going. You can find a page for everything — favorite bands, favorite topics like history and politics, in my case. It’s very easy for me to put the blinders on and just stare at it for an unhealthy amount of time. I’m working on that one.

I’m not a special case here.

But in the spirit of this blog it is noteworthy.

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AA vs. OA: 12-Step Dysfunction

The folks you find in Overeater’s Anonymous and Alcoholics Anonymous often mix well. But when they don’t, well…

Mood music: “Dead End Justice” by The Runaways:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8jhAzSZYfg&hl=en_US&fs=1]

I’ve noticed lately that there are more folks coming into OA that have also been in AA. Some of them have been sober for more than two decades. Now they need OA because in the process of putting down the booze, they developed a food addiction.

I know how it is. I’ve gone in reverse. I stopped the compulsive binge eating and at first started to use wine as a crutch. When I realized how much I was starting to need a drink every day, I stopped that, too. But I still like my cigars and can’t exist without caffeine. The cigars will have to go at some point. I know it in my heart. But not today. Caffeine I won’t be giving up anytime soon.

Anyway, I’m mixing with the AA crowd a lot more these days, perhaps because one of my sponsees has been in AA for decades. We have the big things in common. We developed addictions that made our lives unmanageable. Having found recovery, we latch onto each other pretty tight.

But something’s different.

In OA, there’s a tight fellowship in meetings and on the telephone. But the AA crowd really sticks together. It’s more like a gang. Recovering addicts often live together, several in a house. Not a halfway house. They just live together, watching out for each other.

It’s cool to see. But I’ve also found that there are some real animosities among the AA crowd. One of my sponsees, an OA drop-out for now, spent a lot of time telling me about how I shouldn’t trust this person or that person because one likes to tell lies and the other likes to steal money. The lying part didn’t shock me. All addicts lie. wine_bottle_face.jpg

There seems to be an extra level of paranoia that comes with being a recovering drug addict and alcoholic. I understand. Those addictions tend to go hand in hand with getting arrested and spending time in jail.

If anyone has ever gotten arrested for getting junked up on food, I’d love to meet them.

I don’t write this stuff down to complain, or to act high minded. There’s plenty of dysfunction to be found in OA as well. If we weren’t dysfunctional, we wouldn’t need a 12-Step program in the first place. There are control issues and grating personalities aplenty.

But the AA crowd? There’s more of an edge.

I’m not complaining. I learn a lot from them.

There’s a lot of love to be found among the AA crowd. Those who have recovered are among the strongest people I know.

So to hell with it. I’m going to accept it — just as other people have accepted my own brand of dysfunction.

I’m going to start doing a 12-Step Big Book study soon, so I’m going to be spending a lot more time with these people.

I’d better get used to it.

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Friends Who Help You Heal, Part 2

For a lot of years, I didn’t have many friends. It’s not that people didn’t like me. It’s just that I chose to isolate from the rest of the world for a long time. People with mental illness and addiction do that sort of thing.

Mood music: “Damn Good” by David Lee Roth:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mIP7ySBXBg&hl=en_US&fs=1]

I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, because these days I seem to be spreading myself thin making plans with a lot of people. It’s a problem that’s well worth having. A blessing, for sure.

I’ve gotten some good quality time in this week with my friends,  the Littlefields. They’re staying in a beach house on Salisbury Beach and invited me over.

I spent all Wednesday morning there and some of last night. I’ve learned a few things about this family: Kevin’s oldest daughter, Courtney, has a razor-sharp wit. She keeps her old man on his toes, much to my entertainment. I’ve also learned that Matty, the 5-year-old, likes to run around outside in his underwear and that seagulls are terrified of him. He also kicks serious ass on the Xbox.

I’ve gotten the chance to catch up with many more friends this summer. Some of this is the Facebook effect, reconnecting with a lot of people from the past. But for me, there’s a lot more to it.

For a long time I preferred to hole up in my room or in my car. It was easier to go on a binge that way. People always get in the way when you’re obsessed with getting junked up.

It was also too painful to talk to people. I was way too self-conscious to pay attention to anyone else. I was 280 pounds at one point, and didn’t want to be seen that way. I also had little in common with people in general. I was so isolated that all I did was watch science fiction shows on TV. Life can be limiting when all you have to talk about is Star Trek or Star Wars.

I filled up the rest of my time with work, trying hard to please the masters and working 80-hour weeks. That too is a great way to isolate. You don’t have to talk to too many people when you’re holed up in an office all the time.

Why Erin stayed with me through that period is beyond me. But she did.

When did the isolation break? Probably a few years into my recovery. Once I reached a point in therapy where I could start to manage the OCD and shed the fear and anxiety that always hung over me, I suddenly found myself hungry to see new places and meet new people. I’d say that turning point came sometime in 2007. I haven’t looked back.

I travel frequently for work, and when I do I always make time to see friends who live in whatever area I’m visiting — San Francisco, Chicago, Toronto, Washington DC, New York, etc.

As time goes on, the list of people to visit is getting a lot longer.

I didn’t see that coming.

But I’m not complaining.

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Hung Over and Junk Sick

When you have a binge-eating addiction, the feeling you get before, during and after is a lot like being drunk and stoned.

“What’s my drug of choice? Well, what have you got?” Layne Staley, Alice in Chains

Junkies have a feeling they get before binging: Their brain is stuck on having whatever  gets them off. Alcohol. Heroin. Blow. For me, it used to be food. I’m free of the aftermath, but the demon still taunts me. Yesterday was a good example.

We spent a wonderful afternoon on Salisbury Beach Reservation in Massachusetts for a reunion of folks who were in the Haverhill High chorus, marching band and color guard in the 1980s and early 90s (Erin was in color guard).

All the stuff I used to get my fix on was spread out across three tables, totally legal and there for me to shove down my throat: Hamburger rolls, chips of all kinds, cookies and all the other flour-sugar substances that are essentially poison to me.

Before I found recovery, my demon would start harassing me long before getting to the scene of the junk. Forget the people who would be there or the weather and surroundings. All I’d think about was getting my fill. Then I’d get to the event and get my fill from the time I’d get there to the time I left. I’d sneak handfuls of junk so what I was doing wouldn’t be too obvious to those around me.

Halfway through, I would have the same kind of buzz you get after downing a case of beer or inhaling a joint deep into your lungs. I know this, because I’ve done those things, too. By nightfall, I’d feel like a pile of shattered bricks waiting to be carted off to the dump. Quality time with my wife and kids? Forget it. All I wanted was the bed or the couch so I could pass out.

The next morning would greet me with a bad headache, violent stomach cramps and blurred vision. Just like having a hangover or being dope sick.

Yesterday I stuck to my food plan and my tools of recovery, and it all turned out fine. I got to enjoy the surroundings and the company, though I was still distant in spots because there were a lot of folks I didn’t know. And because of that, there were moments where I gazed at the tables of food.

At one point, during clean-up, me and Duncan took a bunch of cookies and chips and tossed them to the seagulls, who eagerly dove in for their feast. That was rather liberating for me, because I was taking the substance I’m addicted to and throwing it to the wind. It also made clean-up easier, because seagulls leave nothing behind.

Also helping me was the beach itself. The ocean always has a healing effect on me. That comes from growing up on Revere Beach.

So here it is, Monday morning. I did not wake up feeling hungover or dope sick.

Another victory.

A new day.

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The Pedophile

Some people deserve to spend life in a box. But even they have a shot at redemption.

As a dad, I have zero tolerance for anyone who hurts a child. So when I discovered someone I’ve known for many years spent a decade behind bars for pedophilia, It was like a knife in the gut. Further complicating matters is that as a recovering addict, I can’t help but feel bad for this guy. But only a little bit.

He’s addicted to sex and that addiction drew him to kids. He certainly got what he deserved: Hard jail time in the midst of hardened criminals who draw the line at crimes against children. People like that wouldn’t think twice about killing a pedophile in their midsts.

So this guy has been back on the streets for a year. He’s homeless, has found it nearly impossible to find a job and is constantly watching his back. He’s required by law to register as a sex offender, and to inform people living around him that he’s a convicted sex offender.

My first instinct was to tell him to fuck off when he contacted me. But after he described his evil instincts as an addiction, I paused. As I’ve said before, when someone is in the grip of addiction, sanity and logic no longer apply.

I had to hear the guy out.

He understands why people shun him. He doesn’t blame them. He’s been working hard at putting his life back together and curses the day he was born because he hates the side of himself that led to three convictions for assaulting a minor.

In talking to the guy, I found myself thankful as hell that my addiction took the form of binge eating. I think even a heroin addict is more fortunate than someone addicted to sex, pornography and especially pedophilia.

The latter addictions hit a person like any other addiction. You hate that side of you and want to change. But you find it impossible to stop unless you’re lucky enough to find recovery. And recovery is back-breaking, emotionally-draining work.

To have a sex addiction like that has to be sheer terror and hell for someone who isn’t evil at his core.

My Faith also tells me that no person who is sorry is beyond redemption. So you pray for them and hope for the best.

That’s where my sympathy ends.

I once had a debate with my friend Ken White about the death penalty. He’s for it, I’m against it. I argued that it’s hypocritical for the state to take a life. Ken argued back that some people don’t belong in society and have to go. That includes pedophiles. Maybe they’re not evil people, but their actions are evil and if they can’t function in society they shouldn’t be in society.

It was hard to argue back against that logic. Thing is, I tend to agree with him now.

Should this guy on the streets be back behind bars or dead? I’ll let others debate that. All I know is that I’m never, ever going to meet this guy in person or create a situation that lets him anywhere near my kids or anyone else’s.

Walking around with a big scarlet letter on his back must really suck, but it’s for the best. Even he knows that.

In the years following the Manson murders, the four who carried out Manson’s orders turned against him and turned to God. They completely renounced what they did and Charles “Tex” Watson even became a minister behind bars. They sought and received forgiveness from God. But they will never get out of prison.

They may have a right to forgiveness. Everyone does. But they did the crime and have to take the punishment. They gave up their right to live among the rest of us. That’s justice.

The pedophile now on the streets probably deserves a similar fate. But for whatever reason, they let him back out.

But he doesn’t have his freedom. He’ll always be watching his back. That too is justice, I suppose.

Writing about this was not comfortable. I wrestled with myself over whether to even tackle the subject. I decided I had to because I know the evil things addiction will make you do.

I saw this as a necessary tale of caution.

I’ll tell you what: I’m just extremely grateful that my addictions revolved around food and substances. People around me were hurt along the way, but it’s easier to receive forgiveness for those things.

It’s a bitch having to relate to someone who has done far worse than me.

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Lessons of a Thirty-something

The author is reflecting a lot on things that happened in his 30s.

Mood music: “Lunchbox” by Marylin Manson:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5Fo57AXW3w&hl=en_US&fs=1]

Since my 40th birthday is next month, I’m thinking a lot about the last decade. In many ways, I’m not the same guy I was when I was staring at my 30th birthday. This has been a decade of healing, with a lot of broken scabs along the way.

At the start of my 30s, I started to come undone. The symptoms of what would eventually become an OCD diagnosis suddenly grew in intensity. The binge eating addiction entered a new era of viciousness. Some relationships imploded while others were renewed.

In my early 30s, the OCD manifested itself in some insidious ways. I was obsessed with pleasing people, especially my bosses at The Eagle-Tribune, and my mother. I was also obsessed with keeping my weight down in the face of the binging. So I exercised like a madman. In the process, I was just masking a physical decline.

At 31, I was busy being something I’m not good at — a hard-ass. My bosses demanded it. I would get wound so tight that I became impossible to work with. I was also busy trying to keep my mother and step-father happy, which was almost always impossible, especially when it came to their personalities clashing with that of my wife, who had given birth to Sean a year before.

I celebrated my 31st birthday with my mother, stepfather, in-laws and Erin at the Legal Seafood in the Peabody mall. I didn’t want a cake. My mother went nuts about it, because on someone’s birthday you give them cake. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t want it. She was going to ask the waitress to bring me a cake anyway, but Erin put her foot down, because, as I said, I didn’t want a cake.

The next day, my mother called:

Ma: “I just wanted to apologize for not having a cake for you.”

Me: “But I didn’t want cake.”

Ma: “I tried to get you one, but YOUR WIFE wouldn’t let me.”

It always came back to Erin. She was always the scapegoat for decisions I made that my mother didn’t like. And yet, I pressed on, trying to make everyone happy.

By 2006 I was long gone from The Eagle-Tribune, but was still obsessed with pleasing the masters at TechTarget. And I was still trying to please my mother. It was getting a lot harder to do, since I was two years into therapy, newly diagnosed with OCD and spending a lot of time digging back into an abusive past for clues on how I got the way I did. A lot of it came back to her. And so in the summer of 2006 that relationship broke apart.

Why go on about these things? Because some important lessons emerged from the experiences that were instrumental in my healing.

First, I realized that no matter how hard you try, keeping people pleased is impossible.

Second, I realized that the only way to achieve mental health is to be true to oneself. For me, that meant surrendering to a higher power and dealing head-on with the addictions. It also meant being honest about my limited ability to control OCD without medication.

And while some relationships fell apart, others that were damaged in my 20s started to heal in my 30s, especially in the last year.

To that end, I think of Joy, Sean Marley‘s widow. She’s remarried with kids and has done a remarkable job of pushing on with her life. She dropped out of my world for nearly 14 years — right after Sean’s death — until recently. The contents of our exchange are private, but this much I can tell you: I was wrong all these years when I assumed  she hated my guts and wanted nothing more to do with me.

I have to be careful with this last reconnection. I still have a lot of questions about Sean’s final years and the OCD in me wants to know everything now. If I’m lucky, some answers will come in time. But I’m not going to push. I have no right to.

Besides, simply being reconnected is, as Joe Biden might say, “A big fucking deal.”

I used the Marilyn Manson song above as my mood music today because I think of “Lunchbox” whenever I get angry about my limitations. By the time the song is over, I usually feel a lot better.

But while the kid in the song has his metal lunchbox and is “armed real well,” I got my tools of recovery. So you could say I’m armed much better than that kid.

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The Perils of Service, Part 2

Volunteering can be a bitch, especially when you forget who you’re there to help.

Mood music for this post: “My Way” by Limp Bizkit:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQ8Qi86i82s&hl=en_US&fs=1]

Once a month, I spend a couple hours on a Saturday volunteering in the food pantry run by our church. It can be a frustrating endeavor.

Part of the frustration is my own fault. I should be there more often, but I’m only there once a month because I’m spread so thin these days between family, work and sponsoring people in my 12-Step program.

A lot of new people are working the pantry these days. They’re not that new, mind you. They just seem new to me because I’m not there enough to be used to them. They’re good folks, but in my head — when the rush of people come in for their food — I pick apart how they do things. I’ll get annoyed if they try to process multiple orders at once because the bags of food get mixed up and chaos ensues. One guy is very serious and doesn’t laugh at my jokes.

The Saturday crew is always bitching about the Tuesday crew leaving a mess. The Tuesday crew is always bitching about the Saturday crew for the same reason.

And there I am, on my own perch, picking apart how everyone does things because I want everyone to do it my way. I am a control freak, after all. Not that I have a right to be.

These people are there every Tuesday and Saturday. I show up once a month.

If anything, they should be annoyed by me, and they probably are.

Clashing egos is pretty common among those who do service. On the recovering addict side, everyone in the room suffers from compulsive behavior. People like us usually have bloated egos. Mine is especially bloated. This makes me an asshole at times.

But I press on and do what I need to do, and things always work out.

The friction that’s always present among the volunteers at the start of a shift always eases off and we’re all getting along midway through. You can pick on how different people do things, but they’re all giving up their time to make something work.

And once I get out of my own way, things start to fall into place.

At some point in the shift, it hits me. The people in line are there because they can’t afford groceries. They’re down on their luck and doing the best they can.

And when you hand them the bags of donated food, they are GRATEFUL.

And they help me as much as I help them. When I see people who need to live on donated food standing tall, helping each other carry bags to their cars, picking up food for someone who may live at the other end of town from where they live, enjoying time with the children they have in tow, they bring me back to Earth and remind me what life’s all about.

The other volunteers — the ones who are there practically every week while I just breeze in once a month — help me too.

When I see how dedicated they are, it makes me work harder at being a better man.

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Anatomy of a Binge

If you do these things, you might have a binge eating problem.

Mood Music: 

6 a.m.: Wake up, pour coffee. Resolve to live on nothing but coffee and cigarettes for the day.

8 a.m.: Fuck it. You’re hungry. Eat something healthy for breakfast. A bagel and cream cheese will do. Serving size, one 12-ounce container of cream cheese. Add swiss cheese.

8:15 a.m.: Smoke another cigarette and decide that’s all the food you’re going to eat for the day. Resolve to eat one giant breakfast and nothing else for the day for the next several days.

9 a.m.-10:15: As you work, start having a back-and-forth in your head as to whether you really should be having lunch.

10:45 a.m.: Walk to the vending machine for a healthy snack of animal crackers. Choose the Pop Tarts instead. Continue to ponder lunch.

11 a.m.: Take a break from work and drive around to clear your head. Resolve to have a smoke or two but no lunch.

11:02 a.m.: Proceed to the nearest fast-food drive-through or buffet place.

11:15-noonish: You chose the buffet place. Good. Stay there until you’ve had your fill. This will require going back for seconds, thirds and fourths.

Noonish-3ish: Resume working while pondering why you’re such a shameful idiot.

3ish: Get in the car. Plan to drive straight home.

3:05 p.m.: Stuff yourself with the $25 bag of McDonald’s you don’t quite remember buying a couple minutes ago.

3:30 p.m.: The three cheeseburgers, two large fries and two orders of chicken strips is consumed, and you’re sitting there wondering what you’re doing in the Dunk ‘N Donuts drive-through.

3:32 p.m.: Stare at the empty box of donuts and wonder what’s wrong with you.

3:35-4 p.m.: Keep your eyes on the road as you try to put the shame you’re feeling in the proper perspective.

4 p.m.: Get in the house and try to act like nothing’s wrong. When the kids ask you to play with them, explain that your back hurts and lie on the couch.

5:30 p.m.: Dinner time. Try as hard as you can to eat some of what’s on your plate, even though it looks healthy and your gut is throbbing from what you did earlier.

6:30 p.m.: Get the kids ready for bed.

7:30 p.m.: Fall asleep on the couch and forget the day you’ve just had.

Repeat process the next morning.

That’s how I used to do it, anyway.

Sometimes it would just last a day or two. Usually, it would be weeks and months. In 1997, I probably carried on like this for all but a few weeks of the year.