Food Drunk

How I long for my fifth hot dog which I place upon a plate covered with the remnants of Jewel potato salad and broken pieces of plastic utensils which I unknowingly chew through in my gluttonous rage. Told by many that all that remains is a pan of onions grilled in butter and garlic, I make haste to throw them into the bottom half of a hamburger bun lying adjacent to the stove. Into the beckoning tunnel of my mouth and through the beaten path of my esophagus it finally arrives at its acidic abode in my stomach. It lies upon its mucosal pillow and begins its chemical dream. It is this that sends the chemical signals are sent into overdrive, the vagus nerve coming to the brink of burnout. My speech slurs, my legs become heavy, and a feeling of euphoria radiates from the cerebrum to every cell in my body. My body, unknowingly moving, settles into a niche in the couch. My mind is no more full than a swimming pool in winter, my body succumbs to gravity. I am food drunk.

-This is a reflection on my last episode of food intoxication. Temperance has put these types of eating display on hold, but I will always cherish my time with those grilled onions.