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I am not an addict.
I go to the farmer's market for convenience, as a social pastime. Everyone does. The smells, the textures. . . everything there is fresh. . . fresh fish, fresh veggies, fresh clerks.
So what if I used to shop monthly, then every couple of weeks, then every week, then twice a day until I felt as creamy as frothed milk and couldn't squeeze in another minute for anything except food, glorious food?
So what if my friends cooled around me, my landlord simmered about the rent, and my boss grilled me on my whereabouts?
I ignored them all.
At night I dreamed of ways to get to the market. And the more I dreamed, the more I wanted.
Then I whipped up the perfect plan.
I'd go out at four in the morning, when the boats came in brimming with all those slippery-finned bodies. Tuna, halibut, salmon, sockeye, mackerel, cod; and the crabs, king crab, snow crab, peekytoe crabs—I loved them all.
I was in taste bud heaven, until one day I sat down to my zucchini surprise and received a surprise of my own: the chair crumbled beneath me.
That's when I realized I was four hundred and seventeen pounds and hadn't had a date since Christ was corporeal; and there, on the television, was a lady talking about an overeaters' support group, and I thought, me, she's talking to me.
So I joined that group.
We met monthly at first, then I thought I could attend meetings twice a month if I drove to the group in the next town. And I liked that idea so much, I searched for more towns and more groups until I found them.
Yes! I could meet twice a day, except I was soon spending more time on the road and less time at work, and I got fired from my job, and I got sued for back rent, and they cut off the water and electricity, and I was smelling sort of ripe, but the support groups were helping me, because I was shedding the weight. Then one day, when I was feeling very low, my sponsor suggested a therapist.
So I went to see her.
And the therapist helped me right away.
She recognized my problem, said I had an addiction to support groups and assured me it would take only a few therapy sessions to wean me off my support group habit. I liked this woman.
At first, I saw her once a week and saw my support groups ten times a week. But then she went on vacation and I couldn't see her. Instead, her assistant held clients' meetings, where we sat around on bean bag chairs and pigged out on munchies and talked about the therapy we were doing to rid us of our therapies.
One day, the assistant said this wasn't working out, that we needed hobbies to fill our time. I said I liked to cook, and all eyes turned toward me.
Let's go to the farmer's market!
Sure, I might pick up a dozen éclairs sometimes, but only to be social.
As I said, I am not an addict.
* * * * *
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About the Author:
Geri Buckley Borcz is a Georgia, USA, native who writes general fiction short stories, historical and contemporary romance novels, and women's fiction.
Her short fiction has appeared in several publications, including The Ediface of Literature, The Roswell Literary Review, The Southern Ocean Review, Ashes anthology, and the literacy textbook series Rhoades to Reading.
Geri's novels have been a SARA finalist for Best First Book, an EPPIE winner for Best Historical Romance, and a Rose Award nominee. She's also shortlisted in the Maggie Awards, the Suzannah Nelson Davis Awards, the New Century Writer Awards, and the Write Touch Readers' Award.
She and her husband of forty-two years live in Northwest Florida, where they share their lives with a son, a daughter, a son-in-law formerly a Captain in the US Marine Corps, two grandsons, and a granddaughter. Geri's also owned by several furry faces, including a miniature Dachshund, a Basset, and two English Bulldogs.
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More Works
by
Geri Buckley Borcz
Medieval romance novel by Geri Borcz
Devil's Knight
Western romance novels by Geri Borcz
Loving Glory
Driven
Rambling Rose
Women's Fiction by Geri Buckley
For Pete's Sake (a novel)
Stormy Weather (a novel)
Hot Ticket anthology (short story contribution)
Connect with Geri online:
Web site: https://www.geribuckley.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/geribuckley
Email: [email protected]
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