There are sometimes stretches when I can go days at a time without thinking about celiac disease constantly. Like, when I am in the safety of my own home, where just about everything is gluten free. But sometimes, after a few days where all I eat for lunch is an apple and a KIND bar, all it takes is one little thing to turn me into a ball of disaster.
This morning, I overslept.
It has been a fairly stressful week in these parts, and it finally just caught up with me, and boy, wouldn't you know, my hands can find my iPhone to silence that alarm like a truffle pig can find ... truffles. Anyway. I didn't want to be late for work, and I was really hungry.
I trudged out of bed and got ready for work, grunting responses to Luke's attempts at conversations. I picked clothing out of a pile in the floor, hoping it matched (it did. Barely). When my husband told me to "cowboy up" and "try to have a good day today," I lost it. Now, I've met some pretty criers. I am not one of them. I have mastered the art of the ugly cry. What makes it even worse is that my gluten-free mascara is not waterproof, so I ended up looking a little Gene Simmons-y.
I sat there, black streaks running down my face, while Lola licked my elbow (she tries, in her little dog-brained way) with Luke looking on, totally confused as how I had let things escalate into the hot mess he was staring at.
I told him how angry and frustrated I was that, if I was running late, I didn't have the option to drive through Dunkin' for a Boston cream and a latte. I couldn't just pick up a McGriddle to eat at my desk. I have to be prepared, constantly, or go hungry, and sometimes, I don't feel like putting in the effort. Some days, I am tired, and I don't have it in me to have to keep up the vigilance. It seems so dumb, and maybe it is, but I feel trapped by this tiny little protein. And that is why celiac is stupid. It sneaks up on me, just when I think I've figured it out, and shows who really has control. As a control freak, I sort of resent that, and I hate that something as silly as gluten has the power to reduce me to a sniffling, gooey mess. Where is Ryan Gosling when I need him?
(Photo borrowed from Jules Gluten Free's Facebook page. And yes, I was quite late to work, thanks to the bath I needed to give myself to clean off my mascara. Wah wahhhhh.)