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Content Enable editor Use plain text Code entry I am not a psychiatrist. I'm not a psychologist. I'm not a counselor. I'm not a pastor. I'm not a medical doctor. I'm just a master of the pity party. I've got the pity party down to assigns. A science I just went and got an ice cream cone big enough to last my whole drive home through the reserve. I was just aching. If you get to the point where you need comfort food, that just means it's too late. It means you have neglected something. It's just like when you have a headache and try to take aspirin or a prescription. Painkiller. They almost never work. After you have a headache. You have to take them before the pain gets bad. That's a pity party. You have to address it before it turns into a run for comfort food. My pity party this time was an event triggered by an event at the St. Augustine historical society. It was a meet and greet of the creators of a pictorial history of the black community of St. Augustine. I had written a whole Web channel on the Black History of St. Augustine a good 13 years ago. That's why I was going to this thing. But in those 13 years, I've been working on my big history project. And I was sure to bump into people who knew me back then and would see that I am still not finished with my own history project. I am still harvesting other people's completed work never to complete my own. I did not want to meet and greet anybody on those terms. I had driven down there after work and even had an early dinner from McDonald's drive-thru so that I could park early in the historical society's parking lot to make sure to get a parking spot because it is such a tiny lot and it filled up last time I went there. I sat in that tiny parking lot an hour in advance eating my McDonald's. And my heart just kept sinking more and more because I did not want to go in there. I talked to God about it. I didn't feel like I got an answer. My heart just didn't rise up at all. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to go work on my own work. I should not have signed up for that thing. A meet and greet? What was I thinking. I guess I was going to see more black history and collect more material for my timeline and never finish my timeline. I can do that from home. I'm all talk. No action. I drove away and looked for any kind of dessert that would last my entire drive home. I ended up with a giant ice cream cone. And it did a great job for me. The whole way, I was talking to God about why I ran away and why I bought comfort food. McDonald's and ice cream. Why was I doing that? I evaluated the situation and felt stronger that I knew what happened. I knew what I need to do. I need to finish my own work. My pants were blissfully loose when I put them on this morning. I was so happy my dieting had been working. Not dieting, but eating right. And now as I drive home after my McDonald's and ice cream, those same pants are Todd around both eyes and my waist.

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