I made a sandwich at 10 p.m. because the day forgot to feed me properly

Dear Delyara, The day had plenty of activity, plenty of urgency, plenty of movement, but very little honest care for my own body unless I forced it in. By ten o’clock, I was light-headed in that stupid quiet way that says, you have once again been running a life while under-fuelling the person running it. So I made a sandwich. Nothing noble. Nothing beautiful. Bread, cheese, mustard, standing by the counter in my socks. And while I ate it, I felt both comforted and annoyed. Comforted because food helps. Annoyed because I am still so good at letting myself become an afterthought in my own day until the body has to complain in physical language.