11:32 PM

11:32 PM

Grace Cooper

6:37a.m. / 0 calories

A late 2000s song I don’t remember the name of blares from the plastic alarm clock plugged in across my room. Before the first chorus hits, I’m climbing out of bed and moving the clock’s switch three ticks to the right. It’s still dark outside. I hope my car doesn’t have too much ice to scrape off.

8:14a.m. / 0 calories

“This is Grace, how can I help you?”

I miss the first few moments of what the person on the other end says, preoccupied with the unfamiliar tone of my own customer service voice. The short familiar ding of an email notification lets me know that someone brought muffins for the office.

I peek to my left and through the crack below the staff kitchen door. The lights are on. Better not risk it.

10:35a.m. / 0 calories

I step to the side of the dining hall entrance, pulling out my phone and feigning interest in my lock screen. I’d walked in with such conviction, dammit. Less than forty feet ahead of me are perfectly average breakfast sandwiches. But $3.81 is probably too much to spend on my breakfast, especially when I could’ve grabbed something at home if I’d practiced basic foresight. And what if I want lunch later? If the hunger hasn’t passed by the time my next class is over, I’ll get something then. Probably. Maybe.

On the walk to class, I pull out the squished emergency granola bar I’d stowed in my backpack and gag at the taste.

12:12p.m. / 180 calories / Wait, how many calories are in a mint?

It occurs to me that the question, “Do I deserve to eat lunch today?” would make my survivalist ancestors ashamed of me. And yet.

5:35p.m. / 180 calories

Guilt seeps through my weighted blanket, but I’m just too tired to sit up. The gentle tink tink tink of keys hitting ceramic makes me clench, and I anticipate the short knock on my bedroom door before it comes.

“Hey Gracie, how was your day?”

“It was long. How about yours?”

“Sounds like we had the same day. I’m gonna make your brother some dinner, you want anything?”

“Yeah, same as him.”

5:58p.m. / 825 calories

The paper plate, now marked with only crumbs, is stacked on the bookshelf beside my bed, sitting on top of another identical plate.

That’s bad for the environment. You should really get your family to switch to reusable dishware. Just imagine all the waste you alone have produced in the past twenty years. I lie back down and close my eyes, my bedroom lights glowing through my eyelids. You could probably fill a football stadium with all that garbage. Maybe two or three by the time you die.

11:21p.m. / 1310 calories

I pinch the fox-shaped chip clip on the now near-empty bag of puffed white cheddar Cheetos that I’d snuck from the pantry. There are still a few puffs, no more than fifteen, sitting in the bottom of the crinkled bag. It’s disgustingly soothing to leave a few there.

Stuffing the bag in the small gap between my mattress and my wall, I lie back down.

11:32p.m. / 1445 calories

I finish the bag and squish it into an empty tissue box so I don’t have to climb off my bed and feel the weight in my stomach. When I finally turn off my bedside lamp and feel my exhausted body sink grossly into the mattress, I promise myself I won’t have breakfast tomorrow.

7:18a.m. /

On my way to work, I make an impulsive right turn into the parking lot of my favorite bakery, emboldened by the rare joy of leaving my house with time to spare. I’m hoping a half dozen orange rolls might cheer up the friend I’ll be working the opening shift with. Pulling into the surprisingly empty spot right in front of the bakery, I put my car into park and peer inside to find a full rack of freshly-made pastries staring back at me.

I shift my car into reverse.

After a moment, I shift it back to park.

I leave with a dozen orange rolls, enough for both of us, and make it to the bus on time.