Why Do I Eat Food That Hurts Me?

Fell asleep around 12:30 last night.  Had things to do since Grandmother woke me in the 10 o'clock hour, but it's the first time in a long time I knocked off early.

However, before I fell asleep (and after I just got home from working out), I pounded down two slices of cheesecake.  Grandmother, without prompting from anybody, had gone to Sam's Club to load up on food nobody asked for.  She does this all the time, get food nobody asked for, and she always gets cheesecake.  Why?  I don't know.

I remember back when I was young that I loved cheesecake.  In particular, I loved Sara Lee's, the one with the concentric indentations and the crumbs on top.  Do they still make those?  I don't know, we haven't bought those in at least a decade.  Shit, I still love cheesecake.  Every Christmas Eve I go down to the only Cheesecake Factory in town (Southdale Mall in Edina) and buy a slice.

I don't know about this particular Sam's Club cheesecake I don't like.  Maybe it's the fact that Grandmother always fucking buys this pie when no one asked for it.  And yet we always somehow manage to eat it all, eventually.  She must take that as a sign that we like it.  I just hate wasting food.  Anyway, when she goes back to Sam's Club, she'll inevitably buy another pie.

Not only is it non-sensical for me to eat the cheesecake just because it's in the refrigerator, I usually eat two slices at a time.  These things are huge, about 16 slices total, and they're about 3 1/2 inches in height.  I'm eating two because if they're in the fridge long enough, I'm afraid they'll spoil.  (There are two slices left, and I think Grandmother bought it about three weeks ago.)  And almost every time I eat two, I run into a bad case of lactose intolerance.

This is the third two-fer I had with this pie.  And inevitably, the next morning my stomach and intestines are churning and twisting themselves into knots.  I run to the bathroom to shit out my diarrhea.  Twenty minutes later I'm done voiding my watery load, but with this type of cheesecake, I usually make it, oh, two minutes before I run back into the bathroom.  These succeeding times I shit very little, but it's the enzymes or some shit in my execretory system that induces this feeling that I have to expel more waste.

This morning was particularly bad.  I think that I was so tired that, if my body didn't finally lose the battle with the dairy in the cheesecakes I ate last night, I could've slept till the moment Grandmother woke me.  But the spasms and pangs in body woke me up instead.  I usually relent and run to the toilet.  But I'm still not on speaking terms with My Fucking Father, and it was that time of the morning where he was rummaging outside in the kitchen, getting something to eat before going back downstairs, tooling around the Internet (I think), and waiting for Mother to get up.

I just did not want to see his ass.  So I stayed in my bed, trying to combat the lactose intolerance pains in my body by breathing deeply and switching body positions.  Finally, around 7:15 or 7:30, I heard the front door slam shut.  And I raced to the bathroom to deposit my execretions.

I should know better.  If eating this food will hurt me, why do I eat two slices at a time?  Why eat them at all?  Why do I feed Grandmother's belief that this family likes this cheesecake, and therefore she should get another one the next time she goes to Sam's Club?  I'm just going to go through all this shit again, literally.