Ironic Christmas

Last night my choir had our annual open sing, inviting the community to come and share a rehearsal with us, doing Christmas and other seasonal music. It was a really well attended (I'm sure the room had more people than the fire code allowed) and lots of people pitched in putting out extra chairs, passing out songbooks, and collecting donations for the local food bank in lieu of an admission charge. It was a great evening, one of those ones where you really think, "This is how Christmas should be!" It even gave a nice glow to the snow falling softly outside.

Now, sitting on my kitchen floor are 6 big boxes of non-perishables and just over 250 dollars in cash and cheques that I volunteered to drop off at the food bank before lunch time. We had to lug the boxes into the house because I didn't think it would help the cans and jars to freeze in the van overnight. The sight of all that food on my kitchen floor struck me as rather ironic; I am a compulsive overeater, after all, and there are six boxes containing many of my drugs of choice, waiting to make someone else's holiday nicer or at least survivable.

But is it really ironic? Besides the fact I have a van, probably one of the reasons I volunteered to take the food to the food bank was I am so comfortable around food. It is almost like a virtual friend to me, indeed, I've used food as a friend substitute many a time. I used to work in a restaurant, I volunteered for a soup kitchen, I know food. I talk foodie. I'm familiar with how to handle it safely, I know the conventions, I'm one of those people friends ask "How do I cook x, y or z?" I can pronounce quinoa, I can make a very authentic tasting southern pulled pork, I've had a cookbook just for tofu, and one on the history of russian cuisine. I've eaten chicken feet and sea blubber in Hong Kong, and actually know that the latter is a type of jellyfish. I'm much more comfortable working with food than with people. I have a couple of phone calls I've been sitting on because I'm so uncomfortable talking on the phone with people I don't know very well. Food doesn't talk back, unless you count the times I've gotten food poisoning!

But last night went well. After we got the hall cleaned and closed up a few of us headed off to the local watering hole to have a drink. In my case, the drink was diet coke. Didn't partake of the chips and peanuts going around (fortuitously, none of them actually got passed under my nose this time) and just enjoyed being able to sit and chat with people. I drove home fairly hungry, aware that my social anxiety might have been making my stomach feel very very empty, but then realized it had been 5 hours since dinner, so hunger was not an unusual response. I had my usual snack of almonds and yogurt and went to bed. It had been a good day and I was aware of how content I felt and how grateful I was for that contentment.

Ok, so now the grateful compulsive overeater is off to the food bank with her loot, and it's been 50 days since a binge!!! If it's not ironic, it's at least funny!