Got out of bed late this a.m. and was surprised to find a floor full of empty granola & grain bar wrappers in the bedroom. Between that and the debris by the computer, I was able to fill a plastic grocery bag with discarded wrappers. Wonder if there's a local maid service that'd appreciate feedback from a seasoned Mystery Shopper?

Got another sterling email from one of my "admirers" this a.m. Some kid who calls himself Emissary for the Empire of Evil took time off from a busy day of fire-setting and animal abuse to write li'l old me.

"Hey, Fatty," this charming specimen opened, "you don't want to be a lard ass, STOP EATING SO MUCH!" (Funny, I don't recall complaining about my size!) At the bottom of this email was a link to a site devoted to swiping pics of fat women off their personal home pages and placing churlish captions 'neath each one. One good argument against posting my own pic here.

Very charming. Whenever I start to feel too down on myself, I intend to contemplate the minds responsible for this slice of sociopathy. Kinda sad, really.

Think I'll go see what's left for brunch.

10/16/01
[3:53 a.m.]

Woke up in the middle of the night, alert and famished (felt as if I hadn't eaten anything all day!) When I hit the fridge, I found it emptier than I remembered, so I pulled on my dress (skipped the underwear: the pair I'd discarded had gotten pretty tight and I didn't want to waste time seeing what fit now) and drove to the area's Super Wal-Mart for some groceries. On the way, I hit a Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru. Got a bag of jelly donuts and a travel mug of decaf with vanilla-flavored creamer - took the edge off my hunger, at least.

Parking at Wal-Mart's a breeze in the post-midnight hours. Good thing, since I'm not sure I had it in me to walk across a full lot. Parked alongside a corral and grabbed a shopping cart. I liked the feeling of support it gave: the true mark of a shopoholic, I suppose. As I slowly pushed it into the store, I caught a glimpse of my image in the night-reflecting glass. For an instant, I didn't recognize the woman that I saw.

She looked like the type of gal you'd expect to find in a central Illinois discount store: roundly fat, in a voluminous tent of a dress, wide back arched to support her draping forefront, belly bumping into her shopping cart. The sight should've been distressing, but all I could think of was the day-old pastry display that was waiting for me.

Found a chocolate cake and a box of cheese Danish. Nearly said no to a carton of glazed donuts (after all, I'd just done the Dunkin' deal), but they winded up in my cart, anyway.

Wound up packing the rest of my shopping cart with deli items & convenience foods. And when I'd loaded my grocery bags onto the front and back seats, I reached into the closest bag, pulled out two packaged sandwiches and had a small picnic in the parking lot. Four sandwiches, quarts of slaw and macaroni salad, a bag of Sun Chips and a liter bottle of cream soda. That'll keep me from being distracted all the way home, I thought - and, for half the drive at least, I was right.

When I got home, I didn't bother unpacking my groceries: just crammed the bags with the cold stuff into the fridge, left three on the kitchen counter and dropped a bag alongside my desk chair. Logged on and saw that I'd received some new emails. The names were unfamiliar, but when I opened 'em, they appeared to be buddies of my ol' pal, Ample Stuffer. Both were better spellers, however.

"Been following your progress in your blog," the first began, "and I had to write to offer some encouragement. Reads to me like you've really started to reach your potential: if I can help thru encouragement, I'd be glad to do it. Would love to see a picture of you some day. Maybe a before and after?"

Second was blunter and - not to mince words - more than a little abusive. Any missive that opens with the salutation, "Dear Miss Piggy," runs the risk of being deleted right there. But once I got into the body of the letter, it became clear the guy (who called himself "Freleng") meant it as a term of affection. Apparently, my descriptions of the meals I was eating were a turn-on for him. When I started this blog, I hardly expected it to turn into the feeder's Story of O.

Hmm. My grocery bag's nearly empty. Think I'll stop and try to get some more sleep.