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| More lavender crack cake, vicar? |
I think it was was Gandhi who said 'cake heals all wounds (apart from
gangrenous and leprous ones)'. Or was it Marcus Aurelius? Whoever it
was, was a very clever man indeed, and definitely onto something.
I know some days are so full of anxiety monsters chomping at you that you can't think about chomping yourself, and your stomach feels like it's going to void itself all over your vintage velvet sofa. On those days the best thing to do is NOT FRET about the fact that you can't eat, and just sip at some smoothies or Complan or something. No harm will come to you, and your appetite will return. Honestly, the very worst thing you can do is start to freak out that you'll pass out and die (who moi? Catastrophise? Never!), or never be able to eat again (and slowly waste away and *then* die - you can see a recurring theme here if you look hard enough).
But on the days when you CAN eat, and you're just a wee bit maudlin, or blue, or depressed about your anxious mind, or just plain hungover - you need to march yourself down to your closest cafe, and EAT SOME CAKE and drink some spiffing British tea from the colonies. Preferably with a nice, left-wing, similarly prematurely-aged friend, but this is also a lovely solo pursuit too.
Yesterday I had a 'Lavender Victoria Sponge' (see pic above. I thought consuming a cake's-worth of lavender might be just as good as sniffing it), and I promptly fell into the peaceful, post-orgasmic, post-saturated fat happy state I like to call 'cake bliss'. My boyfriend loves cake bliss time, as this is when my most ardent declarations of love come, and when I am least likely to veto any plans he wants to run by me (but there's no mistaking the fear in his eyes - he knows he's living on borrowed time, and that cake bliss wears off just as surely as a bellyful of MDMA).
I know some days are so full of anxiety monsters chomping at you that you can't think about chomping yourself, and your stomach feels like it's going to void itself all over your vintage velvet sofa. On those days the best thing to do is NOT FRET about the fact that you can't eat, and just sip at some smoothies or Complan or something. No harm will come to you, and your appetite will return. Honestly, the very worst thing you can do is start to freak out that you'll pass out and die (who moi? Catastrophise? Never!), or never be able to eat again (and slowly waste away and *then* die - you can see a recurring theme here if you look hard enough).
But on the days when you CAN eat, and you're just a wee bit maudlin, or blue, or depressed about your anxious mind, or just plain hungover - you need to march yourself down to your closest cafe, and EAT SOME CAKE and drink some spiffing British tea from the colonies. Preferably with a nice, left-wing, similarly prematurely-aged friend, but this is also a lovely solo pursuit too.
Yesterday I had a 'Lavender Victoria Sponge' (see pic above. I thought consuming a cake's-worth of lavender might be just as good as sniffing it), and I promptly fell into the peaceful, post-orgasmic, post-saturated fat happy state I like to call 'cake bliss'. My boyfriend loves cake bliss time, as this is when my most ardent declarations of love come, and when I am least likely to veto any plans he wants to run by me (but there's no mistaking the fear in his eyes - he knows he's living on borrowed time, and that cake bliss wears off just as surely as a bellyful of MDMA).
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