My ex and I used to eat at a barbecue purveyor quite regularly when we were young. I'd finish my plate and then I'd finish hers. "Now you get to watch me stuff myself," I'd say between mouthfuls and she'd roll her eyes.
I am prone to gluttony, never been one to pause and enjoy each mouthful, but put as much as possible in as a preventive measure. I'm a greedy person and something of a completist, had to buy all the jazz records in my younger days, want to read all the blogs and everything on the internet today. Must be some kind of anxiety. When will it be enough? When will I be enough?
Fortunately, the day will come, perhaps without my knowing it, when it will be too late, the last meal will be served, I want to believe I would savor it, but that's doubtful.
I haven't reflected about this too much, perhaps as little as I reflect about what I eat. Why do I eat?
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