My Idiocy Knows No Bounds

So today was a gastronomic nightmare of the highest proportions.  Christmasy family angst = emo eating of ridiculous food, the kind of food that is normally an anathema to me, the kind of food that any other day of the year would cause me to recoil in horror and leap up from my chair and flail my arms and run screaming from the room and into a second room, say, a bathroom, behind the closed door of which I would exercise silently and with great fervor until the food in the first room was no more. But:  put me at a table with an assortment of relatives who all secretly harbor fantasies of stabbing their forks into the jugular vein of the person sitting to their immediate left, and suddenly I become the human equivalent of an industrial vacuum cleaner, quickly and efficiently ridding the table of all its contents.  If there'd been cookies and milk left out for Santa, well, screw that, it would have gone down my yawning chasm of a gullet along with the other forty-seven pounds of greasy detrius I inhaled.  It's still sort of hazy at this point, reports are still coming in, but I think I went into some sort of sugar-induced psychotic fugue there for a short period of time and consumed several elves (along with their little felt hats) and the tenderloin portion of a red-nosed reindeer.

Suffice it to say:  fuck.  fuck fuck fuck.

And tomorrow?  That's when the real fun begins.  Having bitched today up beyond all salvaging, I will fast tomorrow.  I must fast tomorrow.  But I'm spending tomorrow with the in-laws.  I can't simply not eat the food they prepare -- that would be rude.  So I'm actually going to bring my own vegetarian food so I can be slightly less rude by not eating my own food instead of not eating someone else's.

Nothing like the holidays to remind me of how completely, irredeemably fucked up I am.  Joy.