blueberry crumble




I just had a salad. I'm not hungry, but I feel unsatisfied. I open the fridge to find blueberries and butter. I shouldn't, but I'll make a blueberry crumble.


I don't bother measuring, so I throw in a whole thing of butter and flour for the blueberries. I hand-mixed some oats, flour, and sugar for the crumble. Oats are healthy? I think? Maybe I'll put some egg whites in the mix. You know, protein. It's good for you.


I was about to throw the yolk away but I popped in by accident. Into the crumble it goes.




It was an accident. Promise.


I'll put vanilla yogurt on top because I don't have ice cream. It's like a parfait. And parfaits are healthy. 

I'm about to take a bite and... I remember the whole "thing" of butter. I'll just make it pretty and not eat it. I am an artist and this is my art.




I'll put a dash of cinnamon. 


Cinnamon and rosemary would be lovely. I take a walk in the garden and cut a small sprig. I top the garnishes and I'll just look. I won't eat it, though I really want to.




Just a bite. It'll be quick



I'm a fat fucking monster.




Each bite I take, I feel myself getting bigger and bigger. I have no self control. I really want to stop, but I can't. Each monstrous gulp is met with a heartbeat of anxiety.




Well, shit. 



I look in the mirror and I think I'm still cute. Cool.




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