I think my overeating is a kind of hoarding

Hoarder's home, Sussex. From The Art of Keeping.

This article at Slate features a photographer's collection of images of the homes of hoarders. While reading it, and the reader comments that follow, I had a realization. There is a great deal of similarity between the justifications used by hoarders and the feelings I have toward food.

Unlock achievement: sherbet glut

Breakfast, courtesy Patty Dee's Kitchen Griddle, was four pancakes with oleo and (corn-syrup-based) syrup. Wait, no, five, since when my back was turned, someone -- J.? -- placed an extra flapjack on my plate. Sneaky. Also a can of Coke Zero, since my feet were dragging after a restless night sleeping in a stuffy room. I've learned that feng shui is a barrowful of bunk, so there's probably no solution to the stuffiness problem.

Lunch was a bucketful (alright, a take-out-container-from-Olive-Garden-ful) of Sunday's leftovers: one-and-a-quarter chicken breasts, a single strip of grilled sirloin [For efficiency's sake, let's call that "grilloin"? - Ed.], and two cups or so of spicy Zatarain's rice mix. Also several mugfuls of water, essential for washing down the aforementioned rice.

Dinner was a spontaneous stop into the Beantown Pub, where we'd previously enjoyed an evening with raucous compatriot Ryne H. I had a turkey reuben sandwich of sorts, with turkey breast, Swiss cheese, and sauerkraut, on a bulky roll. Also a nice cauliflower side, and I had one bite of my sad-looking pickle. Sad.

We went to a movie -- X-Men: First Class, a tepid and overly-expository affair made a little prettier by a gleefully serious performance by Michael Fassbender as Magneto -- and then we went home. I make a note of this only to point out that we did not glut ourselves on concessions, which is, by any account, an improvement to our record.

At home, though, the gnawing sensation of hunger began to nibble in J.'s trunk. I hopped out of bed to reconnoiter the freezer, and brought back a good kill: half a half-gallon carton of black raspberry sherbet. She was put off by the ice crystals which had formed inside, though, so set it aside on the nightstand. Where I found it at 3 in the morning when I couldn't sleep.

So ad to my kill count for the day, about three-and-a-half servings of sherbet. The disappointment I feel is matched in intensity and depth by the distress of my GI tract.

Leftovers for lunch, Longhorn later

After skipping breakfast -- knowing all the while that this is not a good way to start the day off good -- I had lunch at 11 at my desk, a binful of last night's leftovers: a strip of broiled steak, a serving of braised carrots, and two or three cups of that warmed pasta with Parmesan and peas. Water from my tin bottle.

Then Jenna arrived to campus, clamoring (agreeably enough) for companionship during HER lunchbreak. So off to the GSU, where I watched her eat a Subway sammich. When she wasn't watching, I had a bite of it. Also a bag of cheddary Sun Chips, and half of a Mrs. Field's chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich, and some swigs from a bottle of cherry-flavored Coke Zero.

After work, we walked over to Longhorn Steakhouse with Ryne. I had an 8 oz NY strip, with seasonal vegetables swimming in thin butter, and a Caesar salad. When a salad is overdressed, let's start saying that it "wore tux and tails to the backyard barbecue." I know the red meat is fortifying, but I really do not enjoy the facts of its origin. I drank diet Coke, and had two slices of the complimentary wheat bread (full disclosure: it was heavily buttered).

When I picked up Jenna from Panera later, I had a few bites of her citrus chicken. She observed to Ryne that she is weary of having to eat faster and faster, lest the wolves descend. (In this scenario, we, Ryne and I, are the wolves.)

I had a few baby carrots before bed.