Adrenaline Junkie

The most dramatic, terrifying part of my day is about 5:30 pm.  Every single day.  I see the clock tick forward, my palms begin to sweat, my armpits become little mini hot tubs, my heart quickens, and a faint nausea sweeps in like a tide, as it dawns on me that




This is the scariest, worst, most terrible nightmare that nonetheless occurs literally like clockwork every single day.  

Because apparently when you get your lady parts, they come with the eternal responsibility for feeding everyone.  It's probably right there on the X chromosome. Also on that same chromosome is an adoration of small children, a high tolerance for the smell of feces, and the desire to make everything "magical," but I digress.  

The panic I feel is really irrational, and can't possibly be related to my overall mental health, because as you all know, I am terribly well adjusted.  So I'm gonna posit another completely baseless, non-scientific theory that happens to explain everything perfectly, as I am fond of doing.  

I think somewhere in my ancestral, cave-man, human DNA, not only do I feel like it's my responsibility to feed people, but I still believe people's lives are literally at stake here. If I fail in my womanly duties, my family will die and the whole point of my existence will be in question. I think in fact it's the same absurd fear I felt while attempting (and failing at) breastfeeding. We won't go into it here, because it is a painful subject I've written about at length, but the bottom line is this is why I really, really hate Tom Brady. You didn't see that coming did you, but Yes, there is a connection, her name is Giselle Bundchen, and I would really like to blast both of them into the sun, and he had BETTER NOT win another Super Bowl on Sunday.  

OK, this is really getting off topic. "Breastfeeding" is like some kind of trigger word that sends me into a homicidal trance during which I cannot be responsible for my actions.  And no, if you are a breastfeeder I don't hate you, but you shouldn't care anyway because this entire F-ing culture worships you like some kind of goddess, including, inexplicably, many feminists even though breastfeeding is a major detriment to gender equality.  

Breathe, Holly, Breathe. It's gonna be fine. Giselle can't actually have the UN arrest you for using formula. Also your kids are like huge now and can even use the microwave. They don't, but they can.

OK. Back to non-mammory feeding of families. My 21st century American DNA has not caught on to the fact that not only do we have like 6 grocery stores, 20 restaurants and an assorted other food-peddling places within a couple of miles of our house, not only do each of these places have enough food to feed Lesotho or even Eswatini (minus the King, he consumes most of that country's food I think), we also have other things like Amazon Fresh, Door Dash, Grub Hub, and Post Mates. Relax, no one is going to die of starvation around these parts. 

Nonetheless, like Elizabeth Warren, I persist, in this case pretending I am being chased by a serial killing man-eating lion every day at 5:30. 

I know what you're thinking.  Why don't you plan ahead? Figure out what you are cooking, buy the ingredients, and then just follow the plan.  

You are such a fool, I can't believe we are even friends.  

First of all, obviously, I have tried this. I have done this. For an entire week at a time. It took me HOURS to figure out what to cook, given my daughter's special diet of no vegetables/no healthy food/nothing homemade, my husband's special diet of no unhealthy food/no fatty food/nothing processed and my son's diet of taquitos and bacon. But I did it, it worked, it felt good. But then THE WEEK ENDED. And there was no plan anymore. Do you see? 

So why don't you just make another plan? Or just repeat that same plan over and over?

What are you, some kind of Rain-Man-type individual except with regard to organization? You're telling me I need to come up with a plan every single week, maybe on the same day of the week, over and over and over.  

Or you could just repeat the same one? 

Repeat it. You are a freaking comedian.  

The people here will riot.  They only eat 3 foods but you have to put them in different forms or shapes or like in costumes so that people here believe they are not the same foods and yet are the same foods.  You see? 

And also-- if I have a set day of the week on which is do my meal planning, you realize what will happen then, don't you.  Instead of having small panic attacks every day at 5:30, I'll have one massive one, that I may not survive, on that one day of the week.  

Now, I am sure you have many other "genius" solutions for me, but you really are not getting the overall point. Which is this:


And yet I still feel I should.  

I got like half an X chromosome, the part that feels guilty for everything, without the other half, which makes you want to do something about it.  

This is a problem that no meal planning or Real Simple magazine or any of you people, no offense, can fix.  You all got your full X chromosomes, didn't you. I'll tell you another person who did, that Giselle, as well as a horrible personality and a husband who cheats at football. 

The good news is it is cheap high drama around here on the regular, and there is nothing better than that 7 pm rush of surviving the dinner hour.  


  1. I feel every bit of this deeply. I've been telling myself that I'm still winning if I just ensure there is actual food in the house for the people to eat. I pretty much expect them to figure out how and in what form they're going to ingest it, though. Maybe I should hand in my woman card. Maybe just take it, because I just can't even.


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