The Day of the Jackhole

The Day of the Jackhole

Celebrating 40 years on this earth

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1990. Fat becomes me.

September 24, 2011

I’m at away at university, living in a bedsit under someone’s house. It’s the first time I’ve not lived with my family. I ride my bicycle to class, sometimes I drive. Look at the rube. She’s never lived in a town before. Never had access to shops. To convenience. She lets it consume her like a horrible no-restraint rash.

Standing in the aisle at the grocery store, I eye the chocolate bars. The Tim Tams, the Violet Crumble family packs, the Top Decks and Peppermint Patties. I am out of control. In the frozen food aisle, I stock up on blueberry pies and Bravarian cheesecakes. All the food colors I eat are brown brown brown. I don’t have a phone, so I can’t just call for pizza. I have to go get it. And go get it, I do.

With no one to stop me, to give me that once a week chocolate treat, I take that treat every night while watching my small black and white television and listening to the landlady’s kids fight like animals upstairs.

“Just one more row.” becomes my catchphrase.

There are eleven Tim Tams in a packet. I’m sure this is a marketing ploy, to ensure people ‘always fight over the last one’ and buy more. I have no one to fight with. I eat all eleven of them. In one night. I freeze them, because they’re better cold, and eat them with holy devotion. I wear a chocolate halo.

Much to my surprise, I get fat. Slowly but surely, I pack it on. There’s a new fat-layer fondant on my fruity body cake.

I don’t know this at the time, but it’s going to take me 20 years to lose this weight. My ‘I just left home and can’t control myself’ weight.


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