Pizza Coma

Today I worked for 11 hours.
Happy Holidays!
I stopped at Walmart on my way home ( I was going straight home for a change - Handsome had a sleep-over, so I wasn't going to visit him)  to do just a little Christmas shopping. I was walking through the store, and my stomach started poking me. It wanted to now what the hell I thought I was doing shopping at nearly 8:00 at night  when it was trying to live on a peanut butter sandwich eaten at around 2:30 in the afternoon.
Well, shopping was the obvious answer, so I gave that one a shot.
Shopping for dinner, it wanted to know?
No, not really, but I was headed to the registers, and looking past them I saw a pair of big freezers. One of them held frozen pizzas. DiGiorno frozen pizzas.
DiGiorno, I asked my stomach?
I got no answer, but was propelled past the registers and straight to the freezer units. I opened the door and saw that, not only did they have the large pizzas, intended to feed a family, but they also had smaller pizzas. Pizzas for one. I reached toward a pizza for one ...right past it and grabbed a family-sized, gripping the frosty cardboard with greedy fingers.
I bought my pizza.
I drove it home. It rode in the back, but up on the seat where I could see it easily. I reached back at a red light and stroked the box lovingly.
You and me, Baby, I thought. We're going places.
I preheated the oven to 400 degrees, and placed on the middle rack.
I had 20 minutes, so I took a shower.
I took it out of the oven. I was fresh and clean; the pizza was golden brown.
I sighed with happiness.
My stomach gurgled with anticipation. Or maybe it was telling me to hurry the hell up.
I'm not sure... it's all a golden-brown, cheesy delicious, rising crust blur.
I'd checked the fridge to make sure there was space for any leftovers, thinking of tomorrow's breakfast.
There was no need.
There were no leftovers.
I barely managed to clean the kitchen.
I dragged my swollen stomach up the stairs to my bedroom.
I took a nap. My alarm went off, and I dragged my swollen stomach to the desk, wedging it into the seat with me.
It's midnight now. Kind of early for me, and I can barely keep my eyes open. Every keystroke is a struggle.
I'm not sure what I was intending to write for today. I know I had something, but it's gone for now.
It's taking all my will to stay up long enough to tell you what is on my mind, weighing heavily, pressing out from my stomach, pressing down on my eyelids, urging me toward the bed at my back as I fight to see the keyboard, to type out just one word at a time.
Lots of pizza.
Too much pizza.

Pizza Coma.

Sigh.

Talk to you later.