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2002-10-10 10:27 p.m.

Chex Mix. Yes it is fun to jam fistfuls of it in your ass while your balls are tortured by a dominatrix named "Onyx". But is it actually food?

I can not believe my restraint. After 24 days I have still not caved in and eaten the last piece of the glorious manna from the Chex Mix. It has sat in my office on my desk right in front of me, yet I have resisted the temptation.

This is surprising for me, since I tend to eat everything in sight with reckless abandon. I don't think about how I will feel afterwards, and I don't stop until it is too late.

I think this is because I do not have any willpower when it comes to food (or spending money, or most things, really). My friend Jeff disagreed, "You have plenty of will–power, Justin. You just don't have any won't–power." Hm. He may have a point there.

I think the reality is that the only reason I am not eating the last bit of Chex Mix is that it no longer registers as food in my mind. It is more a piece of furniture—an office accessory.

Now an almost ubiquitous part of my work landscape, the last bit of Chex Manna.

When I am hungry and I go to the grocery store and walk through the dog food aisle, my mouth does not water and my stomach does not churn with anticipation at the nearness of immediate and viable food. I do not impulse buy dog food to quell my hunger; I do not open up a can and snack as I walk around the store. This is because, in my mind, dog food does not satisfy the requirements for what I define as food.

I think that the last piece of Chex Mix Manna has shifted—graduated—to this parallel, semi–food dimension. It rests on a glorious, radiant throne, next to other protected non–edibles such as paint, rocks, tires, cranes, and buckets.

Hm. But, if the Chex bit is not food in my mind, then I guess I should not be proud of my restraint. It requires no restraint to avoid eating something which is not food. Sigh.

So much for patting myself on the back.